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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386876">Dawko FNaF Oneshots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/T_WolfXD/pseuds/T_WolfXD'>T_WolfXD</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dawko - Fandom, Five Nights at Freddy's, Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Crack, Fluff, Humor, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Romance, Song Lyrics, Song fic, Unrequited Love, Youtuber Egos, no you don't need my tumblr in this case, oneshots</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:27:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,807</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386876</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/T_WolfXD/pseuds/T_WolfXD</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of not-so connected oneshots around Dawko's FNaF-related personas! Featuring Dawktrap, Nightguard Dawko, The Poopet, and Showtime Dawko!</p><p>This does <em>NOT</em> use Dawko's real-life self- only the fictional, fanmade characters that he has created. Tags will update (mainly relationships) whenever another one-shot appears.</p><p>Irregular updates, just for whenever I get an idea.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dawktrap &amp; Nightguard Dawko &amp; The Poopet &amp; Showtime Dawko, Dawktrap/Nightguard Dawko, Dawktrap/Nightguard Dawko/The Poopet, Dawktrap/Showtime Dawko, Dawktrap/The Poopet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Character Introductions!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hello and welcome! I've been a fan of Dawko for a little while and I was just struck with the idea of writing up some stuff about his FNaF egos. This first chapter is just gonna be some introduction to each of their characters and descriptions, seeing as we don't really get too much view of their full selves, minus the Manic n' Panic cartoon series, and I have some of my own lil' headcanons. So, here we go!</p><p><em>Dawktrap</em> - We got some coverage of his backstory of course, through <em>Darkest Desire</em>- possessed/taken over by Glitchtrap, and pretty chaotic because of that. However, I like to imagine that rather than just a possession, Glitchtrap's soul actually got <em>melded</em> in with Dawktrap's original soul, of which mingled together their differing personalities and tendencies into a single, averaged-out set. The two different souls are usually held in a balanced mixture, though sometimes they do fight one another and become more unstable. It takes effort to bring himself back together. In my writing, he seems more murderous and manic than he actually is, though still acts pretty cynical and morbid.</p><p>He looks just like the usual humanized version of his plushie- mismatched eyes, purple vest, yellow stitched-on hands, etc. He has the ability to turn himself into his plushie too, though still fully mobile and aware. He can also <em>create</em> more plushies, each containing a small fragment of one of the two souls inside himself. He can control them to do what he wants, and can return them back into his mingled soul once he's used them for whatever. He sometimes uses this ability to stabilize himself again when the souls are fighting, too.</p><p><em>Nightguard Dawko</em> - We've mostly seen him through Manic &amp; Panic, and for the most part he remains similar! Pretty anxious and easily scared or freaked out- a bit impulsive, too. Not good under pressure, whether physical or emotional- but genuine in his actions. Also looks like the humanized version of his plushie- mismatched eyes, purple uniform and cap, black slacks. I don't really imagine him having the same abilities (or skill) with turning into a plushie like Dawktrap does, though.</p><p><em>The Poopet</em> - We haven't seen much of his personality as of when this is being written (only in a teaser for him coming to the Manic n' Panic Cartoon), but I've thought of him having a few key traits for my writing. He tends to act like either a loveable, soft scamp, or an angsty, grumpy teenager- but between those two lies a very chaotic side that can and will cause any trouble he wants. I also imagine that his skin/body isn't actually black with white stripes, but rather he wears a jumpsuit with a hoodie that looks like it (inspired by some fanart that I've seen). He still does have a puppet mask, but doesn't wear it often and opts for some facial make-up that looks like it instead. I also gave him the ability to summon puppet strings and use them to his will.</p><p><em>Showtime Dawko</em> - This is the most self-made persona that I wanted to include, based on the persona in the introductions of the episodes of the FNaF Show- but it feels fun to include with the others. I made his name 'Showtime' since it feels pretty fitting. He's definitely one for a bit of grandeur and performance, likes to sing and plays the piano. He's pretty positive and not intimidated easily (given that he's interviewed plenty of dangerous animatronics) and can be a little oblivious to clues of danger, or subtle hints from other people. For his design I thought of something similar to the introduction designs- a purple tux over a white dress-shirt, with golden buttons and bowtie, black slacks and an occasional small, black top hat.</p><p>These one-shots will probably be mostly platonic relationships between them all, though if an idea (or suggestion) comes to my head, I may write a few romantic ones. I'm not shipping Dawko himself- these are just fanmade personas that don't reflect his actual character. Feel free to skip over any that you feel uncomfortable with! None of the oneshots will be related to each other in terms of story unless I specifically state it. I've just never seen anyone write stuff about these guys and I wanted to try.</p><p><strong>Suggestions</strong> - You can leave suggestions, ideas, and concepts on any chapter! I'm fine with writing angst and fluff, both heavy and light. I don't do smut (including aftercare) or heavy gore. AU suggestions are generally okay, as long as they aren't completely fantasy/have some attachment to the source material. Just go ahead and write out your ideas if you're not completely sure- chances are I'll still find inspiration from them! Enjoy!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Softening up the Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Relationship: Nightguard Dawko &amp; Dawktrap</p><p>Genre: Humor, Fluff</p><p>No warnings!</p><p>----------</p><p>The nightshift's always a terrible place no matter how often Nightguard has it. Everything either judges him or tries to get him killed, no matter what.<br/>So, when there's something that does <em>both</em>, of course he grows to like it instead.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nightguard yawned as he flipped through the monitor, swallowing as he glanced through the doors with the light again. None of the animatronics were nearby, at least, but the involuntary shudder as he saw them lined up on the stage was still a usual sentiment. One of these days he’d grow out of it, probably. But until then…</p><p>A handheld flashlight swept up and down the hallways, him nervously readjusting his tie with a gulp. He went to set it down, fingers drifting down to lower the beam of light-</p><p>Only to jerk it back up, heart suddenly thudding. A flash of color had just darted across the floor, much too small and sudden to be one of the animatronics. He hadn’t imagined it. He couldn’t have.</p><p>“Who-” He coughed at the crack in his voice, trying again. “W-Who’s there?”</p><p>Silence. Nightguard’s grip on the flashlight only tightened, taking in large, shallow breaths. They’d never mentioned a <em>small</em> animatronic around here, had they? Sure, there was the cupcake, but it remained on his desk all night, despite the constant feeling that it was watching his every move…</p><p>Another blur of movement across the tiles, followed by a high-pitched giggle that made a shiver crawl down his spine. Still little clue as to what it was, but he could clearly see the purple coloring. There’d definitely been some black and brown, too. The light trembled in his fingers.</p><p>“I-I know you’re there!” He called out, trying to fight back his growing shakiness. “S-So if you don’t mind, I would really- <em>really</em> like for you to come out a-and stop playing this game-”</p><p>A metal thump made his head snap around to the other side of the office. Creaking, heavy footsteps that had to belong to Chica. Focus immediately diverting, he raced over with a yelp, slamming a palm into the button and bringing the metal door down.</p><p>Nightguard leaned back with a sigh of relief, turning back around. Frowning, he switched off the flashlight, eyes narrowing as he glanced at the batteries. Holding back a wince, he set it down on the desk, stepping back towards the swivel chair. He <em>really</em> had to get over that old anxiety soon or else-</p><p>A half-screech, half-gasp escaped his throat as he stumbled back, suddenly aware of the small, doll-like figure in the doorway of the other side. It tilted its head as he shoved the chair in front of himself, legs shaking as he stared at the thing.</p><p>“W-Who- what-” He could hear his own heartbeat, thumping so loudly that he swore the other animatronics would hear it. “H-How are you…”</p><p>It was definitely the thing that had been darting around in that hall. A small, humanoid plush, with stubby paws for hands and feet, a purple fabric vest, and a large dollop of brown hair. But the thing that terrified him the most was the stitched on face, wide and so, <em>so</em> unsettling. A buck-toothed white grin below bright mismatched blue and magenta eyes. Of course, if anything else around here would’ve gotten possessed too, it had to be the creepiest looking toy with eyes similar to his own. Just his luck.</p><p>Nightguard bit back a whimper as a yellow hand (<em>wait. Yellow?</em>) reached up in a much-too innocent wave, grin staying on its face the entire time. It didn’t help that its stitched-on eyes actually blinked with the movement, face shifting ever so slightly. He inwardly shuddered at the sight, but after a few moments, gave a trembling wave back.</p><p>“H-Hi?” He stuttered like an idiot, slowly moving back in front of his chair, fingers reaching out to grasp the flashlight from the desk. At least it couldn’t murder him from brute force alone, what with its comparative size. Sure, maybe <em>get</em> him killed, as proven earlier with Chica, but still. Perhaps it was like the cupcake, even if he’d never seen it before.</p><p>It’s grin widened, and this time he only flinched subtly. It took small steps closer, felt feet making no sound against the tiles. Now that it was closer, he could feel his unease die back just a little more- it really <em>was</em> small. He could’ve held it in one hand alone, as long as it was really made of cotton.</p><p>“What are you… doing here?” Nightguard managed, watching it pause at the base of his feet. He still held the flashlight in his hand, mind having strayed completely away from the rest of the pizzeria and the animatronics.</p><p>It tilted its head, giving another giggle. He could feel his mouth gradually form into an uncertain smile as well, watching its little face. Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad after all-</p><p>Then it shot forward again. No, <em>up</em>. Up towards his face, grin growing closer as he jerked back with a yelp, eyes shutting as he expected something to hit him, that this was the end, that its mouth would open to reveal bloodied teeth primed to rip open his face-</p><p>But all that met him was the <em>woosh</em> of air across his hair and cap, flashlight roughly slipping out of his grasp.</p><p>He gaped in shock the moment he realized he was still alive, eyes darting around. The next thing he realized was that, indeed, his flashlight was gone, not in his hand nor on the ground or desk. A high-pitched, cackling giggle from behind alerted him to everything else that filled in the gaps.</p><p>On top of one of the file cabinets sat the little plushie, swaying back and forth as it held its prize, the flashlight about as large as itself. It laughed more at his disbelieving expression, all but doubling over in its pint-sized glee. It could have been cute if Nightguard didn’t immediately feel a bolt of fear at seeing his flashlight gone.</p><p>“H-Hey, that’s not yours!” He sputtered, darting over. “I- c-come on, I need that!”</p><p>He was tall enough to grip the top of the cabinet, but it ducked further back, blowing a raspberry. He groaned in dismay, eyes darting back and forth between the doors. With a huff he opened back up the one on the right, fiddling with the cameras for a moment just to make sure he won’t get a nastier shock any time soon. Then he sets it back down, glaring back up at the cabinet and the plush still crowing with its victory on top of it.</p><p>“L-Listen here, you!” He shoved a pointed finger towards it, only a couple inches away from its tilted head. “I need that, a-and you don’t, so if you don’t mind, I would <em>really</em> appreciate it if you tossed it back, you tiny-”</p><p>Nightguard cut himself off as he heard the tiny, high-pitched string of noise coming from it. There were no audible words, but it tossed its head from side to side, wide eyes rolling up to the ceiling as it half-talked. After a moment, it glanced back down at him, giggling again.</p><p>:S-Stop mocking me!” His hands clenched into fists, face flushing. “T-This is serious, and I’m telling you, i-if you don’t give that back-”</p><p>Another raspberry. He scowled, crossing his arms. It stared at him almost reproachfully, tilting its head with a curious expression. The flashlight leaned between its pudgy arms, just right out of reach.</p><p>“...Okay, maybe I don’t <em>need</em> that one.” He frowned. “B-But that’s still rude! Y-You can’t just take that and- and not expect me to do anythi- <em>hey</em>!”</p><p>Before he could finish, it leapt from the cabinet with a squeal, scrambling onto a pipe on the ceiling. How it was able to do that and still keep the flashlight in its hands he didn’t know, but supernatural abilities were already clear in this guy. It balanced on the smooth, metal casing, grinning down at him the entire time. It was definitely too far out of reach now, no matter his attempts to jump up and grab some part of it. Nightguard swore he could see the small, smug swagger of its steps. It was all but confirmed when it <em>lay down</em> on the pipe, barely balanced on its felt back, flashlight held to its chest.</p><p>“Y-You-!” He couldn’t even finish that spluttering sentence, and with a groan he finally turned away, throwing his hands up in resignation and sitting back down at the desk. “I swear, when it’s finally six a.m…”</p><p>A begrudging peace seemed to fall over the office, indignation still burning in his chest and face still red. It still occasionally turned the flashlight on and off, giggling at his glare each time. But the rest of the hours gradually ticked by, and as he observed it, he could feel some irritation die down to curiosity.</p><p>He could hear tiny whistles as it laid there, tiny legs swinging back and forth. A few times it accidentally shined the beam in its own face, squeaking with shock. That managed to bring a small smirk to Nightguard’s face, one the plushie noticed and stuck out its tongue at yet again. It was like a little kid, albeit one made of cotton and fabric with seemingly superhuman abilities.</p><p>No, he didn’t eventually see it as endearing. No, he wasn’t feeling comforted with having a sentient being around that wasn’t trying to kill him. And under <em>no circumstances</em> was he finding himself relaxing more from its company, despite no longer having his flashlight in his hands. Absolutely none of that.</p><p>When the clock suddenly rang out, chiming the sixth hour, he stood up with a sigh. Cautiously, he turned around to face the pipe, only for his expression to turn into mingled exasperation and confusion when he saw it barren.</p><p>Simultaneously, something soft nudged his back, and he whirled around. On the desk was the little plushie (<em>jeez, could it teleport too?</em>), flashlight held on its yellow paws. It stared at him with a tilted head, blinking large eyes and flashing a smaller smile. Arms slowly lowering to the wood, it let the flashlight roll out of its grasp, standing back as he picked it up. Nightguard glanced down at the flashlight, then back at the plush, then again.</p><p>“...Thanks.” He muttered after a moment, eyebrows raising. “Erm… have a good… day? I guess…?”</p><p>It giggled at his fumbling response. He stared at it a moment longer, before shaking his head and backing away.</p><p>Just as he turned around, a high-pitched squeal rang out, and suddenly, he felt his cap getting yanked off his hair, the small pitter of soft pads on and off his shoulders making him snap to attention a lot quicker.</p><p>“Oh, you just <em>had</em> to-” He crossed his arms, glaring at the plush, once again sitting on the file cabinet in the corner. It’s tiny shoulders shook with laughter as it held the purple embroidered cap in its hands, grin wide and mischievous again.</p><p>“Fool me twice, shame on me…” He groaned. “I do actually need that for the uniform though, so just… please? Don’t run off too far with it?” He stepped through the doorway, glancing back once more. “See you again tomorrow night… maybe.”</p><p>As Nightguard walked through the now-lit hallway, he could hear a small, tinny ‘buh-bye!’ from the office. If his lips irked up in the slightest smirk at hearing it, well, that’s only for him to know.</p><p>And if he <em>also</em> smiled at returning the next shift and seeing the cap on the desk, with a sticky note containing a crudely-drawn grin… Well, not another soul would see it, except from behind the mismatched eyes of a certain presence, no longer cotton yet grinning all the same.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Showtime can wait.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Relationships: All friendships!</p><p>Genre: Humor, Fluff</p><p>No warnings!</p><p>----------</p><p>Showtime deals with drama all the time- both inside the interview studio, and outside of it. It's just not always expected to happen more in the latter.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Showtime peered at the notebook, pencil tapping at the top of the page. Words were already hastily scrawled in a messy script, and with a sigh he shouldered the phone against his ear, listening intently to the other side.</p><p>“<em>-but he’s unpredictable, so we may want to add on another half hour or so. Last time you almost ended up late for one of the nightmare’s because of another long-winded tangent.</em>”</p><p>“Yes, yes, I understand…” He bit his lip in a concentrated frown. “Perhaps twenty minutes would be enough? If we allow him to stay in his vent where he’s comfortable, it may be more productive this time.”</p><p>“<em>And what? Jerk the camera back and forth between the two of you? We can’t even attach a microphone to those wires, let alone-</em>”</p><p>“Two cameras, though. Two cameras would work, Cas. It might jump, but this interview doesn’t have to be live. We’ve already had one this week with him. And as for sound, we did make him quiet down last time…”</p><p>A sigh echoed over. “<em>Don’t remind me. But if you insist on letting him scream across the stage and exploding your eardrums, I guess I can’t stop you.</em>”</p><p>“Might work! Wouldn’t be the first time.” He shrugged with a grin. “So, I’ll put his time down an hour after Nightmarrione to get the ringing out of my system, and then-”</p><p>Suddenly, he flinched at a sudden <em>thump</em> from above. Eyes flicking up towards the ceiling, a muffled yelling could be heard, two distinct voices shouting- presumably at each other. Showtime rolled his eyes, setting down his notebook and standing up from his desk.</p><p>“<em>Sir?</em>”</p><p>“Yes, yes- blast, just a moment.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “Something to sort out, should only take a few minutes- do you mind going on hold?”</p><p>“<em>As long as it really</em> is <em>just a few minutes.</em>”</p><p>“I try to keep my word, Cassandra.” Tapping a button, he pushed open the door to his study. The first floor looked perfectly peaceful from his vantage point, but the moment he took a step out, another hard crash shook the floor above. An audible wince made him glance over at a figure cowering in the living room, hands gripping the couch cushions. They met his gaze briefly, a weak, crooked smile forming on their lips.</p><p>“Taking refuge?” He raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“A-As much refuge as there is.” Nightguard made a small attempt at a chuckle, gesturing towards the staircase with fearful eyes. “...And there’s n-not too much up there.”</p><p>He nodded, flashing a thumbs up and smile. “I’ll have it covered in two checks of a mic.”</p><p>“<em>I’m warning you cottontail, keep those bastard plushies OUT or I swear to GOD-</em>”</p><p>“Oh, come on, that’s not even accurate! I’ve never even had a tail-”</p><p>“I’ve had it up here with your lot. <em>Keep them out of my room</em>. Or you’re going to find them hanging from the ceiling fan from now on.”</p><p>“It was a one time thing! You’re acting like a kid playing minecraft-”</p><p>“I am <em>not</em> a goddamn-”</p><p>Showtime suddenly cleared his throat at the base of the stairs, ringing out in a way he knew would float above. Indeed, as soon as he did, the voices quieted down, only to be interrupted by thundering footsteps, soon appearing down the steps. Two familiar faces glared at one another, one with a dark scowl and the other in a manic grin.</p><p>“So, Funtime, we were just-”</p><p>“Shut it. <em>Shut it</em>, I’m not taking another word from your fucking mouth right now.” The Poopet reached the ground first, storming out into the carpet and flipping on his black hoodie. A few stray tufts of brown hair poked out, painted white jaw clenched tightly. “He’s being a right pain in the arse. Like always.”</p><p>“Now, now, let’s just settle down now.” He placed his hands up in an amicable manner, grin still shining. “Gents, I’ve a phone call for scheduling so let’s not pull this out any longer than we must, alright?”</p><p>A snicker came from Dawktrap, one that Poopet was quick to elbow him in the ribs for. He rolled his eyes, neatly flipping over the banister as he approached the floor and dusting himself off. It only made his scowl deepen.</p><p>“Upstart.”</p><p>“Whiner.”</p><p>“Prick.”</p><p>“Nitwit.”</p><p>“Come on, not right now.” Showtime had to interrupt their nose-to-nose remarks, crossing his arms expectantly. “So, what is it that actually happened?”</p><p>“This <em>nutter</em> sent one of his little minions into my room while I was snoozing.” The Poopet jabbed a finger into his chest with a growl. “He’s done it before, but I <em>swear</em> this is going to be the final straw for his- his cotton clones!”</p><p>“Was I <em>supposed</em> to know you were taking a nap at ten in the morn-?”</p><p>“You should at least know some decent <em>privacy</em>, that’s what!” He snapped, whirling around to face him. “You don’t see <em>me</em> sending my strings all around the property!”</p><p>“Fine line to say when you nearly broke my neck with them a minute ago, innit?”</p><p>“Maybe don’t have your little buggers right on top of my music box, then!”</p><p>“Hey, hey now!” Showtime’s voice rose again, both of them stilling once more. “Let’s wrap up an agreement, nice and quick. Dawktrap will more careful about where and how his plushies roam-”</p><p>“Tch, spineless.”</p><p>“-and Pup won’t try and send them flying to the heavens.”</p><p>“I’ll still be one step away from it every time I find the daft dolls in my room.”</p><p>“That works!” Showtime clasped his hands together, grin reappearing on his face. “Ah- and! Say sorry, both of you lot.”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>”</p><p>“You heard me. Now- I’ve left Cassandra waiting on her cell for long enough, so I doubt I’ll be able to dawdle long enough to see it… Nightguard?”</p><p>A small squeak came from the couch, his shoulders hunching and cap becoming lopsided as their attention all fell on him. “W-What? Why- <em>me</em>? I c-can’t-”</p><p>“Make sure they do it. I trust in you.”</p><p>“H-How-?”</p><p>“Oh, just say it, mate! Believe me.” He clapped his hands together, smile widening. “Catch you later!”</p><p>Swiveling around on his feet, that grin stayed as he made his way back to his study. Closing the door behind him with a soft chuckle, he sat back down at the desk, swiping up his phone.</p><p>“Cassandra? Still there-?”</p><p>“<em>Shorter than last time at least, sir.</em>”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-----</p>
</div><p>By the time he’d filled out the rest of the notebook, he was humming a light tune, standing up and stretching with a yawn. He’d better catch up on some sleep tonight to meet the week head-on- he’d booked himself quite busy in the studio this time, that was for sure. But it would be worth it.</p><p>As he made his way down the hallway and towards the living room, he was met with a sight on the couch. Nightguard was sitting between Dawktrap and Poopet, both of them firmly facing away from each other. A bowl of popcorn sat on the coffee table in front of them, the t.v. flickering with a show.</p><p>“This one’s boring.” Dawktrap grumbled, the t.v. suddenly glitching in purple streaks. “Nothing’s <em>happening</em>.”</p><p>“Oh, shove off. It’s getting there.” Poopet still had his hoodie over his head, but he didn’t show any signs of real aggression as he reached out and popped a kernel into his mouth.</p><p>“C’mon, Mani.” Showtime suddenly noticed the plush that Nightguard had in his lap, a hand gently stroking over its felt hair. “Just leave it be? Please?”</p><p>His magenta eye twitched for a moment longer, flickering bright, but he eventually settled back down, waving a stitched hand and letting the glitches fall away. Showtime gave a small sigh of relief, still remaining unnoticed as a small smirk formed on his lips. He’d pinned down the solution, alright. Neither of them- really, <em>none</em> of them could continue putting up a fight with only Nightguard around.</p><p>Another yawn escaped him, one that made his eyes droop a little more. Glancing at the peaceful living room once more, he turned back around, silently filing up the stairs and towards his bedroom.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Enjoy the audacity of my american self at attempting to give characters british dialogue adfafydsaufd-</p><p>And, yeah, I headcanon lil' nicknames that they give one another! They've got more, but these are a few:<br/>Dawktrap: Mani (Derived from Manic)<br/>Poopet: Pup (Shortation of his name, and puppies are cute)<br/>Showtime: Funtime (Of course, in reference to the Funtime Animatronics)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Stitched-In Struggles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Relationships: None</p><p>Genre: Angst</p><p>Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, panic attack(?)</p><p>----------</p><p>Sure, <em>he</em> wasn't the one out on a midnight shift for six hours trying to survive killer animatronics. But some of his nights would forever remain a curse even worse than such.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yellow hands shudder, the felt fur trembling with each shiver. Mismatched eyes stare at them, flickering with the light behind each.</p><p>“Shut up.” Dawktrap mutters. “Shut up, shut up, <em>shut up</em>-”</p><p>Fingers clench. Fingers unclench. A half-growl, half-whine forces its way through his throat, eyes glitching in static hues. It’s in his chest, then head, then hands, then throat, then everywhere else it can reach. Running around, ripping around, chasing itself as he feels everything starting to break apart.</p><p>His vocal chords constrict as he grits his teeth, barely holding back the snarl in his chest. Wails, screams, howls, laughter- they’re begging for everything. <em>He’s</em> begging for everything, as they do, because of course they do, of course he’s them-</p><p>“<em>Shut! UP!</em>”</p><p>The furred fingers grip the sides of his head with a guttural screech, only a percentage of the layers of emotions inside the two entities. Dawktrap barely registers in the sensation of fur against skin, a feeling that he hates underneath all other circumstances- but it’s all he can do to not release the thunder brewing inside. When it stops working, they move back towards the bed, raking at the sheets he was just sleeping underneath until… until…</p><p>
  <em>Y<strong>o</strong>u <strong>d</strong>o<strong>n</strong>’t <strong>b</strong>e<strong>l</strong>o<strong>n</strong>g <strong>h</strong>e<strong>r</strong>e<strong>!</strong></em>
</p><p>By the time he opens his eyes again, the white fabric is already torn to shreds in one corner, matching the one opposite, from another fight. Deep violet tears stain it too, dripping down his cheeks. But it’s still agony. There’s too much. It’s always too much, but never enough, not for them, but it’s more than enough for him, but he is them, this is him, it’s always going to be like this until <em>he l<strong>e</strong>t<strong>s</strong> t<strong>h</strong>e<strong>m</strong> o<strong>u</strong>t <strong>a</strong>t <strong>l</strong>a<strong>s</strong>t-</em></p><p>A thin, agonized wail leaks out from his clenched jaw, and finally, something does form, fizzling into existence in his hazy vision. Groaning, Dawktrap props himself back up to see the new plushie now in his lap, leaking bright magenta tears from the embroidered eyes. He grips it in his twitching hands, desperate for the comfort of cotton and felt.</p><p>“T-That’s… more like it.” A gasping chuckle leaves him, wiping his mouth to get rid of the blood dripping down. Probably a byproduct of the immense pain. But now it’s subsided, ever so slightly. The plushie blinks up at him as he sets it down. It’s not going anywhere, though. He knows it’s not.</p><p>Another spasm grips his chest, and the plush jumps over to his side, pressing against him. Soon enough another doll forms, also dripping magenta. Then another. And another.</p><p>The last one to glitch into existence cries blue though, also hugging his shaking form. At last, the voices within completely quiet down, and his head falls silent except for the blood rushing through his ears. A long, trembling breath leaves his chest, head falling back down onto his pillow with a huff. The plushies remain, crowding around his face at his sudden exhaustion, tears starting to fade from them too.</p><p>“H-Ha…” Dawktrap manages a grin, wheezing coughs echoing through the air as his eyes dart around each of their stitched-on expressions. “All this trouble… just to get me tired enough to fall asleep… mates?”</p><p>It’s not why. He knows it's not why. But as his lungs continue to rise and fall, breaths slowing, he drifts back into a more peaceful slumber anyways.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You know that if anyone's up first on the chopping block of angst, it's gonna be the character that's most unhinged-</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Strawberry Slice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Relationship: Nightguard Dawko / Dawktrap (Unrequited)</p><p>Genre: Hurt no Comfort</p><p>Warnings: Obsessive thoughts, violent thoughts, knives (but no real violence)</p><p>----------</p><p>He was definitely, completely, madly in love. He was also all alone and wouldn’t be making it out.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ever since they’d come into existence, Dawktrap and Nightguard had been each other's sole antithesis. Sure, Poopet was definitely part of their specific game-inspired trio too, but he wasn’t nearly as active. The differences between the two of them stood out like the sun and moon, just from their names alone.</p><p>It was never a full-on rivalry, given Nightguard’s distinctive lack of aggressiveness. And with his souls melded together, he wasn’t truly a murderer either. Nothing but pranks and scares, nothing to truly make him scared- nor did they want it. But they were still made in a way that amplified their differences. Opposites. And only opposites.</p><p>Yet here he was, in the middle of the night, surrounded by his plushies and clenching his teeth in pure agony at the thought of him out on another nightshift.</p><p>The souls were fighting. Of course they were fighting again. Yet tonight he trembled not with a splitting pain in his head, but deep inside his chest, painful enough to make his ribcage feel like it was cleaving into two. More dolls glitched into existence as he choked on another wave of rolling hurt.</p><p>Somehow it was so much worse than all the other fights between them. Worse than gripping his head with cursed hands, worse than the exhaustion that wracked him after each fitful night, worse than all of those sensations layering over and nearly crushing him asunder. Because they weren’t fighting to get away from each other. They were fighting to persuade each other to stay.</p><p>Stay as him, who now was on the other side of this ragged battle.</p><p>It sickened every inch of his body, fur or not. The churning feeling that Dawktrap couldn’t deny, clammy and cold yet searing with an undying heat. He hated and begged for it, wanted none and all of it.</p><p>But <em>never </em>could he actually have <em>him</em>.</p><p>Out of reach of his stitched fingers. Not for him. It was never for him, not for either of his souls, the raw <em>emotion </em>that had to be suppressed every waking moment. Cravings were a dangerous thing to keep in such a limbo, being neither satiated nor shut down- yet every option had unprecedented terror all the same. He was walking a tightrope of his feelings, and as far as his mismatched eyes could see, there was no end in sight.</p><p>Fingers clenched and unclenched, soaking in the cold air. Showtime and Poopet were asleep, long asleep to the chirping crickets outside their house. The only one missing was <em>him </em>of course, out on the night shift. Out facing his fears. Out not being a coward. Out not hiding in the shadows of the kitchen and <em>not </em>struggling to do something at last, something beyond feeling pain or pleasure, an unholy mixture of both doomed to eventually shatter.</p><p>It wasn’t until one of the plushies finally hopped up into his arms, cotton limbs positioning into his shaking hands that he was brought back to reality. He held onto it with a ragged swallow, barely able to take in his surroundings for long enough before his attention was dragged back to the souls circling around his heart.</p><p>
  <em>He’s too far.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>He’s too close.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He’s not here.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>He’s at work.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He’s in danger.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>But he’s safer.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>We need him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Anything but him.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>We should go.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>We should stay.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>We can’t stay.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Can’t stay still.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em><strong>I</strong> c<strong>a</strong>n’<strong>t</strong> s<strong>t</strong>a<strong>y</strong> s<strong>t</strong>i<strong>l</strong>l.</em>
</p><p>Dawktrap barely noticed how tightly he pressed the plushie to his chest, unstable breaths rattling in the air. So many more had formed from that single back-and-forth, all milling around the carpet at his feet in uncertainty. He had nothing to tell them to do. They spawned out of necessity, equal fragments of each soul inside, but he didn’t know what he needed. Didn’t know what he wanted.</p><p>Well, he knew the latter. Of course he did. But thinking of such only made him squeeze the plush firmer against his sternum, air compressing in his lungs and vision blurring. The fact that it was 4 A.M. didn’t help matters at all. With how things were currently looking, he’d end up staying in this single spot for the rest of the night and- and-</p><p>He suddenly dropped the plush to the floor, gasps growing shallower at the idea. No, no, no… couldn’t think about that. Not now. Not in his already-unhinged state.</p><p>Stumbling over to the kitchen counter, he gripped the marble slab so tightly that he thought his fingers would snap. Another shaky hand reached out for the fridge door, tugging it open and grasping at a small, plastic container.</p><p>Carefully opening it up, he let out a trembling breath at what lay inside. The crimson, dotted surfaces of the ripe strawberries provided a brief pause to the voices in his head as he pulled them out, one by one, onto a cutting board that one of the plushies had already put forth. Another handed him a kitchen knife, the wooden handle pressing into his yellow fur. Grinding his teeth together, he began to cut them up.</p><p>The red juices from the berries were nothing like blood. Light and translucent, with specks of darker pulp and seeds scattered around… it was neither fresh scarlet or saturated carmine. But therein it provided some semblance of relief.</p><p>Well. Only the juices. The heart-shaped slices, not so much. Dawktrap could have cut them horizontally instead, but when Showtime had commented how much they then looked like roses in an otherwise innocent conversation, it got shut down too. Just another situation of picking his poison.</p><p>They’d prove fatal either way.</p><p>The blade trembled in his grip. The strawberry he’d been in the midst of cutting up rolled out of his hold, metal clattering onto the board. He stared at the thin slivers of fruit, each caught in the moonlight filtering through the window, shining with their juices. With a shaking hand he picked one up, watching the pale color stain his stitches.</p><p>It was so thin. So soft. So fragile. So taunting. So tempting, so sweet, so sour, so bitter, so <em>painful, so heartbreaking, so infuriating, so stupid-</em></p><p>Dawktrap’s palm trembled, fingers threatening to squeeze the slice into a pulp as tears rolled down his cheeks. Their dull violet color glitched as his thoughts ran wild, ecstasy forming a breathless, crooked grin. Oh, it was utterly <em>fascinating </em>how much it hurt, such a lightheaded euphoria swelling up at the choking sensation. How much he wanted him. He <em>needed </em>him, had needed him for weeks as the space between him going on shifts and him being home grew longer and longer in his head and refused to stop. Familiar mismatched eyes he wanted to flicker with unstable life as well, lopsided smile that could stay etched on forever for himself and himself only, soft-skinned hands he’d dig his nails into and never let go, terror-induced heartbeat to hear and fall in rhythm with all day, tantalizing face paling because <em>he </em>was there and not those dumb robots, flimsy cap he wanted to knock off for good and rake his fingers through the perfect hair and scalp beneath, let the damn voices in his head wail as loud as they could manage underneath fulfilled inhibitions, it wouldn’t matter, all that did was-</p><p>Was…</p><p>His eyes suddenly flew open again with a strangled half-gasp, half-sob. He stared down at his twitching fist, juice leaking out between his fingers. The slow drip of the crushed fruit inside splattered onto a formerly clean space of the cutting board, this one held in dark shadow. It was saturated and opaque from this angle, gaunt without the fleeting light that made it transparent.</p><p>Could Dawktrap really be so willing to allow him to bleed drops of red like that too, let alone underneath his own actions? <em>Would </em>he?</p><p>Wrong, wrong, <em><strong>w</strong>r<strong>o</strong>n<strong>g</strong></em>. After slowly opening up his fingers, letting what was left of that slice fall back onto the board, he gripped the edge of the countertop with his hands again. Now they shook with the pure effort of keeping himself upright, sudden weariness washing over his body. He looked on hollowly at the strawberries he’d already cut up, appetite vanishing with each passing moment. Some of the plushies shimmered and disappeared, fragments returning to the rest of him.</p><p>This wasn’t healthy. Sure, he’d known it wasn’t healthy for himself ever since the infatuation had shoved itself into his mind permanently… but it most definitely wouldn’t be healthy for <em>him</em>. He bit back the half-hearted whine rising in his throat, shoulders slumping with exhaustion. It was 5 A.M. and he would be back from his shift in an hour. It was 5 A.M. and he was slicing up fruit in an attempt to cope with his own agonizing possessiveness. It was 5 A.M. and he wasn’t going to truly be with him. Ever.</p><p>Dawktrap knew this state of lucid realization wouldn’t stay forever. Nightguard would be back in the house, he’d inevitably tear at this festering wound again, and it’d take more of this internal hell to crawl back. But never would he manage to stay in it long enough to have a permanent solution. He’d never gain the mind or energy to find it, if this vicious cycle was anything to go by. And Nightguard was the absolute epitome of being undeserving of the same fate. Perhaps Showtime or Poopet could have taken that position too, but… no. They weren’t part of this. Just the two of them, blithely intertwined for what felt longer than eternity.</p><p>Funny how love worked like that, in both the cruelest and kindest moments.</p><p>The last few remaining plushies were crying their own tears as he put away the berries, rinsing off the stray pulp and juice from the cutting board and putting it in the dishwasher. But he tried to ignore it, even as they followed him back upstairs to his bedroom.</p><p>By the time he was closing the door behind him, he’d willed the rest of the fragments back inside. He doubted he’d ever be able to fall asleep with their small faces peering down at him, no matter how well-meaning they were. Even now, the silence between the whole entities shivered, threatening to break at the slightest cue. Dawktrap couldn’t bring even the slightest smile to his face as he lay down against the sheets, thoughts swimming in a bitter haze. Perhaps he should have at least tried to eat one of the slivers before leaving. But he was all out of energy now.</p><p>He was definitely, completely, madly in love. He was also all alone and wouldn’t be making it out.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alternatively: Dawktrap's a yandere but I make you feel bad about it-</p><p>(In all seriousness, I do not in any way condone this type of behavior in real life. If you or someone you know struggles with this type of behavior, please reach out and find help. Stay safe, y'all.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Listen To Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Relationship: Nightguard Dawko / Dawktrap, Showtime Dawko &amp; Nightguard Dawko, The Poopet &amp; Dawktrap</p><p>Genre: Fluff, Light Angst</p><p>Warnings: None!</p><p>----------</p><p>“Like that, innit?” The words hung in the air with a quiet yet unbridled emotion, air in the room feeling colder than it already was. “So it’s like that…”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here ya go, L.O.L! Bit different from your suggestion, but I hope you still enjoy it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The plushie gave a squeak as it landed on the counter with a thump, stumbling upright on cotton limbs. Crossing its arms with a high-pitched <em>‘hmph!’</em>, it glared at the now-shut bathroom cabinet, tapping its foot. It just wanted to take one of those little translucent beads, that was all- but without another of itself nearby, it probably wouldn’t be able to manage it again.</p><p>“<em>Bloody</em>- oh. Just one of you buggers again.”</p><p>It whirled around, facing a painted white face. Poopet rubbed his eyes briefly, before giving a shrug and continuing on in. He only rolled up his sleeves, washing his hands. A tiny idea struck the plush, and it tugged at his arm with a stitched paw. He shut off the faucet, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>“Eh?” It scampered over to the cabinet, hitting it with a soft pad. “What, Dawktrap’s too lazy to get in here himself?”</p><p>A small noise of outrage, and his lips twitched in a smirk. “Fine, fine. Don’t know what you even need, but-”</p><p>It stopped listening the moment his arm pried open the door, racing in with a squeal, yellow hands outstretched for that glittering tin. It wrapped around instantaneously, darting back out with a giggle. He only watched with a parted mouth, shaking his head slowly at its antics. It stuck out its tongue in turn.</p><p>“Bloody nutters…” Poopet raked a hand through his hair before turning away. “Just don’t make too big of a mess with those, you hear?”</p><p>The plushie was gone after he finished speaking, skittering off with a cackle. It held onto the tin of beads fervently, hopping around as it hurried to find a place to set it down. Through the hallways, around the staircase railing, passing by a few of its brethren as padded feet met tiles. It was now in the kitchen, gleeful noises barely hidden as it finally set down the tin on the countertop. Pushing back the cover, it rubbed its hands together, about to pick one up and raise the sparkling surface up to the lights shining above-</p><p>Then, movement caught its attention instead. Out of the corner of its embroidered gaze, flickering over to something distant in the living room. Two figures, sitting side by side at the polished black piano. Nightguard and Showtime.</p><p>Something tugged at its threads upon recognizing them. Dropping the plastic soap bead back into the tin, it quietly made its way closer, darting around the edges of the carpeted room. Onto the windowsill, then behind the television set, eyes instinctually scanning for a place to hide (wait, why hide?). It finally settled for a fairly high spot, out of reach on a patch of uncovered ceiling beams that most <em>definitely </em>had not been made in the past just for the hypothetical situation of this. Absolutely not.</p><p>However, now proving useful, it began to take stock of the situation. Admittedly, it was impossible to hear anything but their muffled voices, far to inaudible to actually make out the real words. But still it could see enough. Showtime, with just his white dress-shirt and slacks on, was resting his hands on the smooth keys, talking to Nightguard with a bright grin. The latter still had on his purple cap, sitting off-center on the fluffy mess of hair. He wore a warm grey t-shirt and jeans instead of his usual uniform, something that made the plushie lean in a little closer. His fingers were also placed a little further on the wood, though with less precision and neatness.</p><p>Nightguard mostly nodded along with whatever he was saying, nails drifting up and down the keys. Showtime then began to play, small notes trailing up the piano before leaning back and allowing him to copy the movements. The plush couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulders started to untense, nervous expression slowly lifting away. It would have made its soft limbs relax too if it wasn’t fully aware of the other person still there next to him.</p><p>They continued like that for a little while, one after another in a repetitive fashion. It couldn’t hear the song, but something inside half-urged it to get up and out of hiding, pulling at its strings in an uncomfortable manner. Seeing how at peace they seemed to be, right next to each other, the way Showtime guided Nightguard all the way, barely pausing once… and the calm expression on the latter’s face, radiant and glowing.</p><p>It didn’t get better as they went on, impatience curdling in its cotton interior as the minutes ticked by. How much longer would it have to stay up here, watching them continue to have fun with their music, skin ghosting each other on the keys? By the time they finished, it was feeling ready to burst, watching with a thinly-disguised glare at their smiles.</p><p>Then, Nightguard seemed to finally speak for longer than five seconds, hands dropping from the piano and into his lap. His fingers twisted together, smile becoming lopsided and nervous. For a moment the plushie’s irritance fell away, watching curiously at his movements. It wished more than ever that it could actually hear what they were saying-</p><p>Wait.</p><p>
  <em>Was that a blush on his face?</em>
</p><p>It was. It so <em>was</em>, tinted pink and somehow making him look even more soft and- and plain <em>sweet</em>. Before the plush could fully take it in, Showtime reached out, hand resting lightly on his shoulder, grin also fading into something more genuine. He spoke too, head leaning forward in a hushed manner.</p><p>After a long, tremoring moment, the two finally broke the moment, Showtime being the first to stand up with a wide grin. To the plushie’s surprise, Nightguard didn’t follow him up from the piano, only nodding along with the last thing he said. Yet his mismatched eyes followed him the whole time he walked away, fingers still rubbing his own arm nervously.</p><p>It’d seen enough, more than enough. Glitching back into magenta pixels, it was whisked away from its hiding spot, flitting up the staircase in the blink of an eye. By the time it flitted underneath the bedroom door, it was more than boiling with a storm of emotions the closer it got to its owner.</p><p>Dawktrap was merely sitting on his bed, picking at his stitches with a light frown on his lips. His furred hands were itching more than usual, discomfort barely lifting the longer he scratched. He’d never be able to remove them, of course. But at least he could have some sort of relief from the prickling reminder.</p><p>Suddenly, the fragment swirled in, a darker shade than usual as it flitted around. It crackled slightly as it finally touched his fingertips, sucked back inside to the rest of its soul.</p><p>The glow in his mismatched eyes completely faltered, jaw tightening. The attention slipped away from his hands, which twitched with a rapidly-solidifying feeling. His face, already in a discontent expression, hardened as he swallowed.</p><p>“Like that, innit?” The words hung in the air with a quiet yet unbridled emotion, air in the room feeling colder than it already was. “So it’s like that…”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-----</p>
</div><p>Nightguard flexed his wrists, letting out a small puff of air as he walked down the hall. Streaks of sunlight glimmered from the windows of the dining room, falling across the table in stripes. It was a good afternoon. A good, relaxing afternoon.</p><p>...Mostly.</p><p>His lips pressed together at the thought of what was still left to do. God, how much his stomach flipped at the thought… maybe he should have given himself more time and wait another day? But then he might forget how the song went by then. But he’d be able to practice more. But they’d question what it was for. But then he could just say it. But then-</p><p>He nearly bumped into the kitchen counter in his worry, stifling a small yelp. Taking in a deep, trembling breath, he readjusted his cap, shaking out his fidgeting arms. He’d be fine. It’d be swell, Showtime had told him numerous times to carry a smile the whole way, to focus on the music and only the music- but hell, he couldn’t do that without his thoughts trailing back to <em>him</em>. He’d just have to hold on to the keys and pray. </p><p>Eyes flickering up, Nightguard suddenly noticed something sitting on the mostly barren marble slab. An open tin of soap beads, glittering faintly in the bright light. Head tilting in a frown, he wandered for a closer look. It was probably of either Poopet or one of the plushies- given that there was no owner in sight immediately, he was leaning towards the latter. They left little scraps around all the time. As he leaned over to pick it up, thoughts began to spin around like their tiny reflections. Perhaps, if it was of one of the plushies… he could take this back up? And then…</p><p>Get it over with? Finally tell him? Finally show him?</p><p>The container quivered ever so slightly in his grip, but he pushed back his nerves. Up the stairs he’d go first. And maybe he’d decide then.</p><p>The door was closed when Nightguard reached it, of course. Yet even after a single knock, nothing greeted him. Small rustles and squeaks on the other side, but nothing else.</p><p>“Stitches?” His voice was even more cautious than usual, feeling so small in the silence. “I’ve- I think I’ve got something that one of your plushies wanted, mate…”</p><p>Still nothing. It didn’t help the nerves he’d been battling the whole way up here, gulping as he cleared his throat. “U-Unless if you’re busy, I’d- really rather, well, come on in…”</p><p>Not a single audible noise behind the door. The foreboding silence was filled to the brim with tension. Taking in a deep breath, he set a hand on the doorknob, slowly pushing it open.</p><p>The bed was barren, sheets slightly rumpled. A stray pillow lay on the ground, making his eyebrows knit in confusion. Not a single figure, human or plush, was to be seen in the room. “Stitches? Mani?”</p><p>Suddenly, a small series of thumps could be heard from one of the walls. With a start, Nightguard realized the closet door was also closed. Quickly setting down the tin on the nightstand, he darted over, flicking on a lightswitch and pushing the doors open.</p><p>A squeak met him on the other side, surprised and annoyed, but there was still no immediate sight of the culprit. With a slight groan he stood back, frowning at the clothes and boxes inside.</p><p>“I know you’re in there, Cotton.” He sighed, pushing back his hair. “Come on out, <em>please</em>? I- It’s just a tin of soap that one of your plushes was using, that’s all. I’ve already set it down on your nightstand. But if there’s something wrong-”</p><p>An indignated string of noise came from within, color flashing in the corner of his eye. His gaze immediately flicked to the shoebox in its place, sensing the presence behind it. Before it could disappear, he shoved it out of the way, causing the plush to hiss and dive behind another set of boxes.</p><p>“I- don’t give me that!” He sputtered. It was definitely the full Dawktrap, had to be. “What’s wrong? I’m not going to do anything, but if you’re insisting on acting like that, then-”</p><p>The set of cardboard shivered, and he immediately jerked his arm towards it. But when he pulled back the box he was already gone, blur of color vanishing into the other side of the closet. He stifled a curse as he turned around, searching for any sudden movements.</p><p>“Blimey, what’s gotten into you?” Nightguard shook his head. “It’s just me! Just bloody get on out and we can-”</p><p>Another tiny, poorly-hidden growl from the left. He knocked aside a piece of clothing, catching the glimmer of mismatched eyes before he ran away again. This time he felt the woosh of air against his arm, whirling around. An embroidered face glared out from the top shelf, hissing out another set of inaudible words before ducking behind an object.</p><p>“For god’s sake, stop it!” He huffed. But mingled hurt and worry was forming inside. Dawktrap could get mischievous with his felt-limbed antics whenever he insisted on turning into a plush, but never with any actual anger. That single glare had such an uncharacteristic bitterness etched into the threads. “Don’t make me dig you out with a blasted hoover- <em>oi</em>!”</p><p>At his words, the plush suddenly shot forth, once again twisting around his limbs. But this time, he managed to bat a hand out at it, suddenly jerking it to a halt. Yelping, his fingers finally managed to close around a limb, freezing as he realized he’d finally done it.</p><p>The plush, however, was nowhere near satisfied, squeaking with outrage as it flailed in his grip. Nightguard’s hand was firmly gripped around one of the legs, and the rest of him was dangling upside down, swinging side to side in a desperate attempt to free himself. But it wasn’t working, as he finally hoisted him upright, both hands cupping underneath his shoulders.</p><p>“Bloody hell…” He rolled his eyes, watching as his struggles still continued. “Are you going to listen now, or what?”</p><p>Clearly he still didn’t want to, even if a real reason was beyond him. He didn’t want to have to hold him upside down again, or shake him back and forth, but energy and patience were beginning to wear thin. Nightguard swallowed as he remembered the other, much more hesitant reason he’d wanted to come up here.</p><p><em>Just keep smiling</em>, Showtime had told him, flashing a thumbs-up. <em>Keep your genuinity, mate, and it’ll work out. Trust me. You’re a good bloke and you’ve just gotta believe in this. You believed in it enough to come this far.</em></p><p>A tiny, more subdued squeak brought his attention back. Dawktrap was still staring up at him, calmer despite the guarded hostility still on his face. Pushing back his thudding heartbeat, he took in a deep breath. “If I set you down, can you promise to not just run off again?”</p><p>He averted his gaze, giving a sullen pout. It was enough to make a weak smile form at the corners of his mouth, and he set him down on the bed. A glitching flash later, and he was back in his full form, hair and clothes rumpled from earlier. His arms were still crossed, eyes fixed on the floor.</p><p>“Stitches?” He said, softly. He took the tensing of his arms as a response, as much as his own smile wavered. “I’ve… got something that I would like to show you.”</p><p>“You already gave the soap beads.” His words went by so quickly. Too quickly.</p><p>“I’ve got something else too.”</p><p>Finally his eyes snapped up, though nothing else of his body followed, shoulders hunched. Still, Nightguard took this as a sign of improvement. “Come on. It’s in the living room.”</p><p>“You can’t bring it up here?”</p><p>“Would take ages, mate.” Confidence finally sparking in his chest, he moved his hand closer, grasping felt fingers. He could feel the black stitches against his skin as he clasped their palms together, small lines trailing all around. As much as he would have liked to run his thumb across each, he settled for allowing him to finally stand up with him. His expression was still uncharacteristically masked, mismatched eyes glittering with an unknown emotion.</p><p>“Are we bloody going or what?” Still a tense voice, too. But he closed his eyes briefly, blinking them open with a nod and tugging him along, out of the room. Now his heartbeat was unavoidable, blood rushing through his ears. Was he ready? Physically? Mentally? It felt like ages ago that he’d just been practising and perfecting that single song, still having barely known how to play at all. He could probably feel the terrified tremor of his fingers by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, gulping in deep breaths as they neared the piano.</p><p>“Okay, so…” He let go of his hand, nervously twisting his fingers together. “It’s a song. Um, one that I… really, <em>really </em>just wanted… to do. I-It won’t be all too great, it’s not like I’m trying to be Showtime or anything mate, but… y-yeah.”</p><p>Nightguard didn’t know if he was grateful or not for the silence that met his words, barely able to sit down on the bench without bouncing his leg. Here he was. He was about to do it, about to play it, about to <em>sing </em>it- god. He wasn’t ready, but it was as ready as he would ever be.</p><p>Where did the first note fall? How loud? How soft? Would he sing on tune? Would his voice crack-?</p><p>“It’ll be fine.” The first time Dawktrap had spoken ever since they’d left his room, making his thoughts halt. “Just go on.”</p><p>Yeah. Yeah, okay, he was ready enough.</p><p>A small clearing of the throat. Nails lightly falling on top of the white keys. Back straightening up, eyes blinking twice to make sure he was still in reality. Then, he began to play.</p><p>“<em>When your legs don’t work like they used to before… And I can’t sweep you off of your feet…</em>”</p><p>Nightguard had first heard this song quite the while ago, on the radio one day. Whether he’d been going to or from a shift he didn’t remember, but he’d grown to enjoy the listen whenever the station cycled back around to it. He was quite the sap for plenty of heartfelt songs, and this one was no exception.</p><p>“<em>Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love? Will your eyes still smile, from your cheeks?</em>”</p><p>Did he imagine that he’d ever be wanting to play it out loud, going as far to learn the piano just for the sake of such? Well, no… but then again, he hadn’t exactly imagined growing such a fluttering, fond feeling for Dawktrap, either.</p><p>“<em>And darling, I will be loving you ‘til we’re seventy!</em></p><p>“<em>And baby, my heart could still fall as hard at twenty-three!</em>”</p><p>If it wasn’t the most cliche, utterly dorky thing he could have chosen. But, well, tripping over at every step seemed to be something he was good at. And when Showtime agreed to teach him, there’d been absolutely no going back.</p><p>“<em>And I’m thinking ‘bout, how people fall in love in mysterious ways…</em></p><p>“<em>Maybe just the touch of a hand…</em>”</p><p>God, they were supposed to be opposites, weren’t they? Perhaps they still were, to an extent. But his heart just hadn’t worked that way. Or maybe it had worked exactly that way. The saying ‘opposites attract’ was probably ages old at this point, after all.</p><p>“<em>Well, me, I fall in love with you every single day, and I just want to tell you I am…</em>”</p><p>It’d started out in the simple things. The care-free nature of him and his actions, the fun and mischief he radiated, shining with his bold, chuffed grin. The pure fun he always brought to the table, even if it often meant crashing onto the table. Nightguard was never one to do such things himself, given that it could so easily get him killed on his midnight shifts… but when he saw him do it, something prevented him from trying so hard to get him to stop like he usually would have.</p><p>“<em>So honey now, take me into your loving arms!</em>”</p><p>Then it became the larger things. The nights he wasn’t on a shift, when he’d see him up and awake, running fingers over his stitches with a light scowl. The mornings they’d see so many plushies out and about as he walked out of his bedroom, bags underneath his mismatched eyes as he still maintained a sharp yet strained smile. The afternoons of those plushies slowly being reabsorbed, and the small, effort-filled intakes of breath he could hear whenever he was close enough as it happened.</p><p>“<em>Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars…</em>”</p><p>And as much as his mind wavered between those two types of moments, a third one joined the mix too- small things. The most miniscule of observations. The striking glow of his eyes in the shadows, full of energy no matter what form he had taken. The quirk of his eyebrows at another successful prank or scare pulled on one of them. The smooth locks of hair that he often kept styled, almost falling over the glint of either iris. The yellow fur of his hands that seemed so roughed up, yet Nightguard only ever imagined them feeling soft against skin- and now, only minutes prior, he’d finally been able to confirm that sentiment.</p><p>“<em>Place your head on my beating heart!</em>”</p><p>Dawktrap wasn’t just a person, and he knew that. There were two souls underneath, souls that contained unspeakable concepts he’d never had to deal with, blended and shoved into a single combination and form. But a part of Nightguard, a part that had grown to encase his whole heart… still wanted it all, from start to finish.</p><p>“<em>I’m thinking out loud, maybe we found love right where we are…</em>”</p><p>His hands trembled as he pushed forward with the song. It all felt so far away yet so close in his senses, like he’d just started both seconds and ages ago. But he didn’t dare stop, not once. He was going to finish it, no matter how much it felt as if his fingers and throat wanted to seize up. He could make it.</p><p>By the time he shakily exhaled what air he had left in his lungs, shoulders trembling as he leaned back from the keys, he was just beginning to return to the world around. A fleeting glance at his watch told him it was nearing 6 P.M. He didn’t dare turn around to face the other person still in the room.</p><p>“S-So… yeah.” Nightguard’s fingers gripped the edge of the bench. “T-That was the song…”</p><p>A silence that fell across the room once more. He was no less braced than before, heartbeat not fading in his ears-</p><p>“That was brilliant.”</p><p>His voice, god his voice. It was a soft whisper in the silence, making a weak smile form on his lips. “Yeah…?”</p><p>No vocal response, only small footsteps drawing nearer on the carpet. He swallowed as he heard the quiet inhale and exhale of his breath, not far behind his head. “Stand up.” Dawktrap murmured. “You look like you could use it.”</p><p>Carefully pushing himself up, he turned around, finally meeting his eyes. The fidget in his hands was unavoidable as they stood still longer. Even now, in his anxiety-ridden state, he still looked so entrancing, frown long gone and face held in a thinly-veiled expression.</p><p>“Did you…” His eyes flickered before returning to their normal glow. “Did you really… play that for me?”</p><p>A quivering nod. How flushed his face had to be at that point. Nightguard didn’t dare move an inch of his body.</p><p>Then, a felt pair of hands slid into his, fingers intertwining. He could feel the fur and stitches underneath his palms once more, criss-crossing all around. It fit so perfectly.</p><p>And so did the pair of lips that pressed against his own, soft and honeyed against the sudden stop of his heart.</p><p>His eyes drifted shut, relaxing into his grip. They were still right next to the piano, still standing in the living room where anyone could have stumbled upon them- but hell, it didn’t matter. A slow flame seemed to expand inside of him, warm and blissful.</p><p>Finally Dawktrap pulled away, signature grin forming, still smoother around the edges than all the other times he’d seen it. Something wavered all over again at seeing it, mind frantically grasping at anything to say.</p><p>“I-I didn’t think… this far ahead into the performance.” His face burned harder as he said it, hearing the small chuckle at his words.</p><p>“I thought Showtime would’ve taught you to keep emergency exits around if the show didn’t go as planned.” He teased, gaze glittering. “But you didn’t think you’d get this far at all?”</p><p>“I just- didn’t <em>know</em>.” Nightguard mumbled, shrinking in on himself slightly. “I never attempted something like this before, I didn’t know I’d make it all the way through, I- hmph, I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore…”</p><p>“D’aww, but it’s adorable when you ramble.” One hand let go of his, furred fingers reaching up towards his face. The warm touch was more than welcoming, almost melting into his palm.</p><p>“Mmph…” He suddenly blinked up at him, a thought forming in his head. “Wait… how did you know Showtime was teaching me?”</p><p>“Obvious by the fact you picked up playing in the first place, and…” Now it was his turn to glance away, not meeting his eyes as a warm tint formed across his face. “...A plush saw you practising this morning.”</p><p>“I never noticed it. Must’ve been hiding pretty well, though I don’t know why-” He cut himself off, sudden realization dawning in his head. “...Hold on.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Earlier, when you were a plush- when you were acting up-” A sudden giggle overcame him, thoughts starting to merge together. “You- but-”</p><p>“Wait. No.”</p><p>“A plush was hiding- oh, blimey. It was <em>hiding </em>from us, because it would’ve- you would have seen us on the piano, so-”</p><p>“Shut it.”</p><p>“Then you hid when I came up, and didn’t- you thought I was- thought we were-”</p><p>“Goddamnit.”</p><p>“For crying out loud, Mani, you- were you <em>jealous</em>?”</p><p>“Was not.”</p><p>“You turned into a plush when I came up with the soap, then you hid in the closet-” Nightguard’s hands suddenly moved up to cover the rapidly-widening grin on his face, chest shaking in an effort to keep back the rising mirth. “Oh my- <em>Stitches</em>. You <em>hid </em>in the <em>closet</em>.”</p><p>“For fuck’s sake…”</p><p>The groan as he raked his fingers through his hair was to absolutely die for, heated cheeks visible between his hands. With a small chuckle, he moved his arms away, pressing their foreheads together.</p><p>“Well, I really didn’t have anything to worry about, did I?” His hands draped across his shoulders, heart falling content once more. “Looks like we’re both bloody nutters in the end…”</p><p>“You’re damn lucky I’m not about to turn back into a plush.” Dawktrap grumbled.</p><p>“Sure I am.” With the last bit of his giddy, dazed confidence, he leaned back into another kiss, humming as he felt his soft hands wrap around his waist. He had no idea if his cap was still on at that point, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything else at that moment.</p><p>“Missing something, am I?”</p><p>
  <em>Well.</em>
</p><p>He roughly jerked back with a squeak, face flushing as he spotted Poopet’s unimpressed face leaning over the staircase. He gave a snort at their mingled reactions. “You can get off for all I bloody care, but keep it in the damn bed at least-”</p><p>“<em>Pup</em>!” Nightguard hissed, face growing redder. “J-Just shove off, god-!”</p><p>“Don’t ever say I act like a child again if you’re going to be a pair of secondary-school lovers.” A smirk twitched at the corner of his white mouth, sauntering back up the steps.</p><p>“Hmph…” He crossed his arms. “Bloody sneaking up out of the blue…”</p><p>“Well, I sure wouldn’t mind taking his advice.”</p><p>“N-Not you too…” He half-heartedly whined. “Well, at the very least it saves us the trouble of having to explain anything.”</p><p>“You still get to tell Funtime that it worked.” Dawktrap ran a set of fingers through his hair, and- oh, yeah. His cap had long since fallen off.</p><p>“I guess I do once he gets back from the studio.” He rubbed his arm with a small chuckle. <em>And I’ll probably end up doing it again in the future for you.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Shut Eye and Shut Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Relationship: Nightguard Dawko &amp; Dawktrap &amp; The Poopet</p><p>Genre: Humor, Fluff</p><p>Warnings: None!</p><p>----------</p><p>Muffled shouts and laughter echoed all the way up, a groan escaping his lips as he rolled over on the mattress. It was far from just that damn clock in the way of sleep. The pillow was much too stiff, the sheets grating against his back, the air stuffy and sickeningly warm, and the <em>people</em>-</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm speedrunning this request for you L.O.L. in honor of Dawko's 24-hour charity stream today-<br/>Go and watch it right now if you aren't already, it's for the World Wide Fund for Nature! He's got so much planned out and it's super poggers!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>Part of Dawktrap regretted getting that clock while drunk out of his mind just for the aesthetic.</p><p>Because, as much as he loved his own aesthetic, nights like these reminded him just how utterly, bitterly, hazardously terrible aesthetics could be for his health.</p><p>The souls were just calming down after another fight. But now that clock was there, in all it’s irritating glory, and hell, he could feel that damn glitch rabbit beginning to separate back out yet again.</p><p>
  <em>Annoying, annoying, annoying, annoying, a<strong>n</strong>n<strong>o</strong>y<strong>i</strong>n<strong>g</strong>-</em>
</p><p>Oh. Or they were getting in tandem on this one subject.</p><p>He didn’t know if it was better or worse.</p><p>Muffled shouts and laughter echoed all the way up, a groan escaping his lips as he rolled over on the mattress. It was far from just that damn clock in the way of sleep. The pillow was much too stiff, the sheets grating against his back, the air stuffy and sickeningly warm, and the <em>people</em>-</p><p>“Ha! First try, you little-”</p><p>“Oh, shove off, you bloody troll! How was I supposed to know you could hide behind those jars?”</p><p>“Would’ve if you had a little more patience!”</p><p>“Bastard… hmph. Oh, there goes those nutters…”</p><p>“Thank god we’re through. Imagine actually being that small!”</p><p>“We’ve already got those plushes running around. Sure don’t need anymore.”</p><p>“Yeah, but they’re not <em>that </em>small. Look! She literally gobbles up our character if she sees us!”</p><p>“Bloody hell, trying to do that with those cotton bastards would give us indigestion.”</p><p>“<em>Ugghhhhhhhhhhh</em>…”</p><p>He knew they wouldn’t hear him over the sound of that game they were playing below. For someone whose life and job depended on staying quiet and vigilant, Nightguard sure didn’t do a good job of it on all the nights he had off. Poopet definitely wasn’t helping, though.</p><p>“Stupid bloody- goddamnit! The timing’s so weird! How do these bastards actually overpower you, anyways?”</p><p>
  <em>Tick.</em>
</p><p>“I think we’re just weak. And we keep that bag over our head, so it’s probably not that easy to see.”</p><p>
  <em>Tick.</em>
</p><p>“Hmph. Makes our job a lot harder. Just take it off and we’d be a lot better off- <em>goddamnit</em>!”</p><p>
  <em>Tick.</em>
</p><p>“My turn now!”</p><p>
  <em>Tick.</em>
</p><p>“Wha- oy! Come on, one more try. I had to be close to getting all of them.”</p><p>
  <em>Tick.</em>
</p><p>“Not close enough! Come on, you’ve been getting through this whole section since we snuck past the teacher-”</p><p>
  <em>Tick.</em>
</p><p>“It hasn’t been that long! One more try, I’m almost- <em>fucking hell</em>!”</p><p>
  <em>Tick.</em>
</p><p>“And it’s done! Come on, pass it over mate!”</p><p>
  <em>Tick. Tick. Tick.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>F<strong>u</strong>c<strong>k</strong>.</em>
</p><p>Head snapping up from the pillows, Dawktrap raked back the messy tuft of hair threatening to cover his eyes, gracelessly shoving himself out of bed. Rising up from the floor with an unkempt growl, he stumbled towards the door, eyes dullenly glaring ahead.</p><p>The few plushies still lingering around glitched and disappeared back into his body, mustering up all of their energy as he trudged down the stairs. The souls shuddered with each ringing heartbeat roaring in his ears, headache pounding with each step.</p><p>A blinding light shone upon his eyes as he neared the bottom, the playstation much too bright on his seething irises. The volume rang out with every single movement, every press and click of the console fuzzy to his ears.</p><p>“Yes! We- are- <em>done</em>!” Poopet tossed the console onto the cushions, flopping back on the couch. “Bloody take the thing. I’m not doing that next part.”</p><p>“But that’s the- that’s the <em>worst</em>!” Nightguard whined. “I don’t know- how long do I have to wind it up? Christ…”</p><p>“I got us all the way here! You can do the hiding sequences, this isn’t that much different.”</p><p>“But it <em>is</em>!”</p><p>“Is not, you still just wait in a single spot and do something until she pauses! And you get to listen to that beautiful music.”</p><p>“Ugh… come on, turn it faster…!”</p><p>“<em>Are you kidding me</em>.”</p><p>He barely realized he’d said that aloud, watching the game pause as both turned around to face him in surprise. Dawktrap let out a loud groan, pressing the palms of his hands to his head.</p><p>“Mate…?” Poopet dragged out the single word, leaning back over the couch edge in the absolute most <em>obnoxious </em>way possible. “Still alive or…”</p><p>“<em>Fuck. You.</em>”</p><p>“What’s happened?” Nightguard blinked up at him, eyes much too innocent for his liking. “Something’s bothering you upstairs-?”</p><p>“Oh, <em>I don’t know</em>!” He spread his arms with the shout, letting them drop back down to his sides as he glared at them. “I get woken up in the middle of the night because these glitchy idiots can’t shut up again, <em>you two </em>are screaming your bloody heads off while blasting that damn volume in the game, <em>and</em>! It’s my favorite game that you said you wouldn’t go on without me!”</p><p>Silence rang out after he finished, pinching the bridge of his nose with a growl as his vision swam with exhaustion. Showtime wasn't even here to help, he was probably having the time of his life in another interview. God, he was going to die tonight.</p><p>Stumbling forward, he plopped down between them on the couch, ignoring Nightguard’s squeak of surprise as he curled up in a ball. His eyes were barely staying open, burning from the light that emitted from the screen. The cushions were soft and warm, smudged between their body heat. A small yawn escaped him as his fury abated, ignoring how much his back would hate him in the morning as the sounds began to fade away.</p><p>“So, do you want a turn to-?”</p><p>“No.” He snapped back into consciousness for a moment, forcing the word out as he curled up tighter. “I’m here to sleep and you’re here to suffer now.”</p><p>He let out a small growl at the stifled chuckle he could hear from Poopet, the presses of the console resuming from Nightguard as the game continued. Through half-closed eyes he could see it play out, barely mumbling small, sleepy remarks from time to time, drifting further and further away. By the time he was fully drifting away, Poopet’s gloved hands were carding through his soft mess of hair, head now in his lap. On the other side, his long legs pinned Nightguard down to the couch on the other side, the bemused man resting his elbows on top as he progressed through the game.</p><p><em>Maybe</em>, he thought as he felt the soft fingers drawing him closer to slumber, <em>I should sleep like this more often.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've barely edited up this chapter but you know what? I haven't been able to draft up any stories in my freetime for a while and this is a great return. My favorite part was coming up with the title, it just fit so perfectly. And, yeah, they're playing Little Nightmares 2 since I just recently got into it through the theories. Double story update pog in honor of the charity stream!!!</p><p>Also- <em>FNAF Show Plushie pog??????</em> I didn't see it coming at all even though I literally put down his character into this oneshot book. And since I bought all other three of the plushies, now I get to have the whole collection :D</p><p>And Project Hex!!! I'm so excited to see what it'll be all about. I'm really happy for him being able to branch off further from FNaF and fulfill some more original creativity. It's not always easy to have enough support to be able to branch out like that as a content creator when your brand and fans are focused around one main thing. I'm really excited to see where he takes it, it looks like it'll have so much potential :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Incorrect Quotes 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Have some good ol' incorrect quotes to satiate the soul while I work on writing up a request! Most of these are original, and the ones that aren't will give the source at the end.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Showtime: It's important that you really feel yourself in the music! Y'know, you ought to find the rhythm and tone that suits your soul the most.</p><p>Nightguard, playing timidly: Like this?</p><p>Showtime: Good start! Just feel confident enough to really dig into how you feel-</p><p>Dawktrap and Poopet: *Slamming down on the keys with unholy screeches*</p><p>Showtime:</p><p>----------</p><p>Poopet: Mate, what do you want for breakfast?</p><p>Glitchtrap, inside: The souls of the innocent...</p><p>Dawktrap: A bagel.</p><p>Glitchtrap: No!</p><p>Dawktrap:</p><p>Dawktrap: Two bagels-</p><p>
  <em>(Vine)</em>
</p><p>----------</p><p>Showtime: Mate, you really need to stop being so <em>stringy</em>. No need to see the world in <em>black and white</em>, you ought to get rid of the <em>long face</em>! <em>Button up </em>your worries and see the nicer things in life! Think outside the <em>box</em>!</p><p>Poopet:</p><p>Poopet: No.</p><p>----------</p><p>Showtime: Hey, I’m back from the studio! What are you thinking about making for dinner-?</p><p>Dawktrap: We combine lunch and breakfast into brunch but don’t do the same for dinner and lunch even though it would be healthier to have an earlier meal.</p><p>Showtime:</p><p>----------</p><p> Showtime, holding an interview: So, tell me more!</p><p>Dawktrap: ...Well, I kind of feel like the interviewer is hitting on me.</p><p>Showtime:</p><p>Showtime: And how does that make you feel?</p><p>Dawktrap: <em>Pretty good.</em></p><p>Showtime: *excited squealing*</p><p>
  <em>(Vine)</em>
</p><p>----------</p><p>Showtime: So, we decided to move out to make more space for the kids!</p><p>Poopet: Wh- Wait, did you adopt or something? You don’t have kids…</p><p>Dawktrap: *internally screaming from the amount of plushies inside the house*</p><p>Showtime: Right…</p><p>----------</p><p>Poopet: ...What do you think you’re doing?</p><p>Dawktrap: Well, I went into plushie form… because then I’d be able to fit into the jar… and then I crawled into the jar… and then I summoned all my plushies… because I wanted the jar to explode…</p><p>Poopet:</p><p>Poopet: And then what led you to the conclusion that it would explode-</p><p>
  <em>(John Mulaney)</em>
</p><p>----------</p><p>Showtime: You know, it’s days like these that you really just get to sit back and relax, you know? Just wind down and enjoy yourself and appreciate the world.</p><p>Poopet: An animatronic fractured your arm during an interview and we had to drive you to a hospital.</p><p>Nightguard: Your car broke down several times on the way and two interviews had to get rescheduled.</p><p>Dawktrap: We now need to make you a new top hat.</p><p>Showtime:</p><p>Showtime: A wonderful day indeed!</p><p>----------</p><p>Poopet: How many times do I have to tell you, <em>merengue </em>is a type of dance! <em>Meringue </em>is whipped egg whites!</p><p>Dawktrap, holding an electric beater and radio: It could be both-</p><p>----------</p><p>Nightguard: *Holding hands with Dawktrap*</p><p>Poopet: Good pals, huh?</p><p>Nightguard: ...No.</p><p> </p><p>Dawktrap: *Giving Nightguard flowers*</p><p>Showtime: Bouquet for a best bud?</p><p>Dawktrap: Wha- NO.</p><p> </p><p>Dawktrap, on one knee in front of Nightguard: Will you become my-</p><p>Glitchtrap, manifesting out of nowhere: Best friend forever?</p><p>Dawktrap and Nightguard, simultaneously: NO!</p><p>
  <em>(Vine)</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>...Yes, I'm a multishipper af-</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Slick Words.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Relationship: Dawktrap / Nightguard Dawko, Dawktrap &amp; The Poopet</p><p>Genre: Humor, Fluff</p><p>Warnings: None!</p><p>----------</p><p>Dawktrap wasn't exactly a large fan of soda before. Funny how a single prank can change that in the blink of a mismatched eye.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Me: So, we have another idea from L.O.L! It should be pretty short, it's pretty comedic with a splash of romance, probably a confession-<br/>My brain: Wait a week until you get started and write it in less than 2 days.<br/>Me: Wha-<br/>My brain: 2k words.<br/>Me: But-<br/>My brain: Dawktrap's a simp.<br/>Me:<br/>----------<br/>Hope you enjoy it though, L.O.L! I quite enjoyed writing it, even if I changed the prompt a little and it didn't go exactly how I thought it would.<br/><em>Also why does almost every oneshot title start with an S I hate it here in creative land-</em></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“...What the <em>fuck</em>.”</p><p>The utter disbelief within the three words shook the house free of any peace that had settled in the morning, seething with an uncharacteristic anger.</p><p>Now, it wouldn’t have been that out of place. Actually, that single sentence was quite par for the course around here- exchanged rapidly between Poopet and Dawktrap during pranks and shenanigans, whether together or against each other, or even the occasional one from Showtime at the end of a busy day.</p><p>But when it was by the last member of their household, the one that usually bunkered down into hiding when those words were said..?</p><p>Well, Dawktrap knew they were in for some deeper trouble.</p><p>Carefully, he set down the mug of tea he’d been quietly sipping, steps quiet as he walked up the stairs. Each pressing of his foot against the floor didn’t feel nearly discreet enough, inching towards the second floor with narrowed eyes. With a small wave of the hand, he could feel the plushies roaming around turn back into their fragments, thin, glitching pixels swirling around and disappearing back underneath the stitches.</p><p>His arm lowered back down to his side as he made his way onto the final step, just in time for a muffled groan to become audible. All four of their rooms were within the corridor at the top, but all remained closed except for one near the end, on the left side. Quick footsteps could be heard through the ajar door, pacing back and forth with uncharacteristic huffs.</p><p>“Hello…?” Dawktrap pressed a delicate fingertip against the wood, pushing it further open, just enough for him to peer through. “Mate, what’s gotten you so… sharp…”</p><p>Words were left forgotten as his heterochromic eyes widened, taking in more of the room. It couldn’t have been a further cry from the usual semi-neatness, much more than the rest of their rooms. The carpet, once a fluffy pale yellow, was almost completely stained a dark, muddy <em>brown</em>. Barely a single spot remained that didn’t look so irregularly volatile, not even the bed with now-umber sheets and pillows. Worst yet, the clear drip of the culprit liquid trickled down the side of both the wardrobe and nightstand, such a terrible interrupter of the silence with each drop hitting the floor.</p><p>He was barely jolted from his shock by the noise of dissent that escaped the owner of the room, whirling around with a flaring glare in his eyes. “<em>Yes</em>, sharp! Because someone decided to spill in a dozen liters of damn soda in here, and <em>now</em>-” A stiff arm waved around the atrocious place- “-my room is completely, utterly, in shambles!”</p><p>Dawktrap was unable to respond, watching as Nightguard pressed the palm of his hands to his head. “Why <em>me</em>? I thought I stayed out of your bloody pranks and wits a long time now-”</p><p>“Well, for the record, this wasn’t me.” He raised his hands up defensively. “Come on, that much coke is just nutters. None of my plushes were behind an inch.”</p><p>“That’s obvious <em>now</em>!” A small stomp of the foot, followed by him puffing out his chest. “Bastard- where is he? Oh, that dodgy little pain in the arse-”</p><p>He continued to stare throughout the whole rant, Nightguard’s cap clutched so tightly between his hands as he resumed his pacing up and down one of the slightly drier patches of carpet. His hair was so clearly raked back multiple times into a forced mess, cheeks a blotchy red from the uncharacteristic show of anger, lips turned in such a pouty frown, eyes flaring with an almost amusing indignance. Though he had no doubt that it was all completely genuine, with how much he’d only ever seen Nightguard so timid and shy, the sudden fury looked so childlike, so <em>endearing</em>.</p><p>Goddamn, part of Dawktrap was tempted to thank Poopet when this apparent prank had gotten Nightguard so passionate for once.</p><p>“-and I swear, I <em>will </em>drag him out to the damn shift and leave him in the stage room for those bastard robots to find!” His sharp gaze suddenly locked with Dawktrap’s, narrowing slightly. “Where in hell is that prick? Blasted-!”</p><p>He had no qualms shifting out of the doorway, watching the man storm through the hallway and all but throw the door besides his off of its hinges. His lips curled up in an unseen smirk as Nightguard paused in the doorway, face still so flushed and downright <em>adorable </em>as he began to yell at a no-doubt laughing Poopet.</p><p>“A blooming day, isn’t it, Cappy? Though, I would appreciate it if you knocked next time-”</p><p>“You gormless, bloody little tosser! Absolute <em>dick</em>!”</p><p>“Shoving open the door just to insult me? Mate, that’s not too-”</p><p>“Oh, <em>shove off </em>if you’re about to say that! Bloody little <em>nutter</em>, going into my room and spilling all that soda around! Bastard little-”</p><p>“So you didn’t like the surprise? It’s a right shame you know, I thought you liked sweets-”</p><p>“To goddamn <em>eat</em>, you nitwit! You absolute-”</p><p>It was so wonderfully unfair in Dawktrap’s distant mind, face rapidly melting into such a doe-eyed look as he watched against the wall. No one should’ve had the ability to look so cute while being utterly livid. Was this heaven for him?</p><p>“-mess? You know, I thought you’d be more covered in it too when it was set off-”</p><p>“<em>Set off</em>? You utter <em>knob</em>- it was supposed to go off as I walked in?!”</p><p>“...Damn, did it not-?”</p><p>“No! I came in to see everything already covered in the bloody mess, not- <em>what do you mean</em>?!”</p><p>“Blast it, I gotta see this.” Dawktrap was jerked back into reality at the black and white blur rushing out the room, Poopet’s eyes carrying mingled disbelief and amusement. “You mean to tell me they <em>all </em>spilled and- bloody hell, that’s…”</p><p>“That’s your fucking mess!” Nightguard was quick to follow, shoving his own door wide open. “Are you telling me that it wasn’t supposed to get this dirty?!”</p><p>A choking, wheezing laugh escaped Poopet as he backed away from the doorway, shaking his head with such mirth. “Goddamn- <em>ha</em>! Bloody brilliant, oh mate, the damn look on your face when they just- bloody hell-”</p><p>Dawktrap couldn’t stifle his own giggles at Nightguard’s exhaustively indignant look, even if it was for different reasons. “I wouldn’t have gone for it, but you <em>do </em>look pretty damn gobsmacked, mate.”</p><p>“Of course <em>you </em>wouldn’t have the balls to do it. So I had to.” Poopet took in a long breath, still clutching his sides as he leaned back against the hallway. “Hell and damnation, that made it completely worth it…”</p><p>“No, it has not!” Snapped Nightguard. “I can’t step through that goddamn room at all until it’s cleaned- and how in hell do you clean off all that blasted stuff?”</p><p>“Well, it starts with a bucket-”</p><p>“Shut your bloody trap.” He growled, arms crossed so tightly across his chest. “Are you not even going to- and I don’t even have a shift tonight when it’s the weekend! This is one of the few times I’d quite <em>appreciate </em>having a bed that isn’t soaked in a ton of coke!”</p><p>“It’ll wash out eventually, it’ll wash out eventually!” Poopet gave an exaggerated shrug, dopey smile still plastered across his mouth. “Sorry if you came here for an alternative, but mate, I don’t think there’s any room in my music box. Unless if you’re satisfied with the floor-”</p><p>“I’ll pass from you.” He muttered. “Damn prick… I’ll settle for the couch.”</p><p>“Well, you don’t <em>have </em>to.” Poopet tugged at the tips of his black gloves with a chuckle. “I mean, Showtime’s getting late from an interview tonight and I don’t think the bloke will want to deal with it after his own ruckus, but…”</p><p>“...Not following?”</p><p>Dawktrap watched as his violet gaze met his own, his smirk widening from painted skin. “Well, you could just bed down with Stitches over here.”</p><p>He blinked at the sly look. The twinkle of mischief had returned, albeit… deeper. “I mean, if it’s going to be a while until the soda gets cleaned up, I wouldn’t mind helping out.”</p><p>“Great! Settled. Perfect.” Poopet ducked behind, hand resting on his bedroom door. With a last, meaningful grin at Dawktrap, he flicked his hand in a wave. “And do knock next time, won’t you?”</p><p>“You <em>utter</em>-” The door swung shut before Nightguard could finish his words, standing back with a scowl. “Blasted little nutter of a- hmph…”</p><p>
  <em>Bloody hell he still looks like an angel.</em>
</p><p>A small clearing of the throat brought him back to reality. “Would you… <em>mind </em>me staying in your room?” Nightguard was putting his cap back on top of his soft mess of hair, expression easing into something more thoughtful. “As… bloody rubbish as that whole spiel was, the sheets themselves shouldn’t be that bad to put in the wash. It wouldn’t be the first time falling asleep on the couch, anyways-”</p><p>“And your back would go to hell in the morning. No, there’s plenty room for us both. I’ve got the largest bed out of all of us, anyways.” Dawktrap pushed back open the door to the messy room, grimacing again at the sickly sweet smell and color. “...And though I’m not the neatest bloke, I don’t think it could be any worse than here.”</p><p>“<em>Noted</em>.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-----</p>
</div><p>Dawktrap rolled his eyes as the soft pads darting around his shoulder, soft squeaks from the plushies ringing around his ears. “Bloody hell, give me a moment? I’m trying to work here.”</p><p>One was shaken off and into his lap, scrambling out with an indignant yelp. “Just jump around in the closet right now if you’re energetic. I need to get this little… thing… out…”</p><p>With a slight wince, he retracted the small needle, eyes narrowing at the stitches across his hand. Rubbing a hand across, he gave a sigh of relief at the fix. They didn’t fall apart ever, yet some days they would itch a bit too much and give him a headache. Tossing the metal pin into a container on the bed, he closed up the materials, standing up and heading towards the door.</p><p>He opened it to a pair of widened eyes, the figure outside halting with a small noise of surprise. The usual cap sat lopsided in his hair, folded sheets resting within his arms.</p><p>“So they washed out?” Dawktrap raised an eyebrow.</p><p>Nightguard gave a small nod. “The rest of the mattress is utterly unsalvageable in one day, but some progress was made. I’ll get bleach for the carpet tomorrow.”</p><p>“You’re going to need the whole stock to get it back to normal.” He chuckled, stepping out of the doorway. “The plushies are crowding the bed, but I don’t think they’ll mind. Is that right out of the wash?”</p><p>“Still warm, yeah.”</p><p>“Just drop it down, I don’t think they’ll even complain.” He glanced back at the many pairs of stitched eyes staring at them from the bed. “I’ll be right back mate, just need to wash my hands.”</p><p>Dawktrap barely picked up his soft, incoherent muttering as he passed by, staring back at his uncertain form. His shoulders were hunched up to his neck, fingers drumming against the washed sheets, eyes darting around the room.</p><p>
  <em>Still cute.</em>
</p><p>After shaking out the cool water from his furred hands, he came into his bedroom to see the man already sitting down on the mattress, sheets set down on the corner. A plushie sat on either shoulder, another hanging from his left arm, two in his lap, one bedding down in his hair, others clinging to his back and the rest snuggled within the fresh blanket.</p><p>“They like you quite a bit.” He mused, crossing over to the windows looking out across the falling night sky. “They’re both clingy when they’re in their own little fragments like this. The glitch won’t admit it half of the time and the human gets incessantly called out for it, but-”</p><p>
  <em>R<strong>u</strong>d<strong>e</strong>.</em>
</p><p>A small giggle escaped Nightguard, glancing up from the plushies. “If they’re <em>both </em>clingy, then what does that make you?”</p><p>He paused for a moment, options of a response rolling around in his mind. “I think that’s pretty clear, innit?”</p><p>Oh, the spluttering, flustered retort behind him as he closed the blinds was <em>perfect</em>.</p><p>By the time he turned around, Nightguard was clutching one of the small plushies to his chest, a pinkish tint still visible on his cheeks. Humming slightly, Dawktrap ruffled his own hair, sighing as he glanced at the clock. “Do you mind if they stay out, or…”</p><p>“They’re soft. I don’t mind.” He glanced around the bed, biting his lip. “I feel like we might not have needed so many blankets, though.”</p><p>“Well, it’s still one thing from your room that’s clean.” He hung up his vest, yawning as he loosened his dress shirt. “Come on, I’m ready to turn in now.”</p><p>“Mhm. Do you, uh, mind if I just lay on this side…?”</p><p>“Whatever you need.” He flashed him a grin. “Come on, let’s sleep. It’s been a long day.”</p><p>Another small mumble of agreement, curling up with some of the plushies still hugged to his chest. Flicking off the lights, he slipped in on the other side, breaths beginning to slow as he pulled the sheets up to his chest.</p><p>It was a large bed, indeed. The whole reason for it was to accommodate for the plushies during the less peaceful nights, and in general for so much space around. But now, as Dawktrap turned to the side, watching Nightguard’s peaceful form, features so soft and delicate, he was even more grateful for the mattress size.</p><p>Shifting closer, he wrapped an arm around his form, the small twitch at the movement and squeak not going unnoticed. Chest swelling with warmth, Dawktrap allowed a soft chuckle to escape his lips.</p><p>“You know, you should get angry more often.” He murmured, barely audible. “It’s cute.”</p><p>The sleepy whine as Nightguard turned over, pressing his head into his chest, did nothing to retract that sentiment. “Is not…”</p><p>“Is too. You’re cute in everything you do.”</p><p>“Hmph…” His soft bed of hair tickled his chin, curling up even smaller. “Stop flustering me when we’re trying to sleep.”</p><p>“Alright, handsome.”</p><p>A soft snort, tinged with shy affection, followed, relaxing back down against the pillows. Yeah, sleep indeed. Dawktrap didn’t doubt that it’d be the best one in a while.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Midnight Show</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Relationship: The Poopet &amp; Showtime Dawko</p>
<p>Genre: Fluff</p>
<p>Warnings: None!</p>
<p>----------</p>
<p>He wasn’t really looking for much. But it seemed as if he wasn’t the only one up for something, no matter how small it might have been.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here ya go, Some_Gurl! I went with just platonic for this oneshot this time.<br/><em>Also title that doesn't start with an S poggggg-</em></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He wasn’t really looking for much. A cool breeze filtered in through an open window, shadows of nearby trees rustled against the thin moonlight, the kitchen clock shone with bright green digits. It was nearing 12 A.M., of course Showtime wouldn’t be looking for much. Just a lasting cup of tea before completely calling it a day and settling in for a nice slumber.</p>
<p>But it seemed as if he wasn’t the only one up for <em>something</em>, no matter how small it might have been. Nearby, on the living room couch, sat a familiar black and white figure, thin limbs curled up in a ball. There were no signs that he’d heard him in the kitchen, but as Showtime stared at his form longer, his attention drifted more and more.</p>
<p>“Pup?” He murmured softly, much lower than his usual ear-catching tone. The flicker of black eyes made clear that he was aware, but he didn’t make any further movements. “Haven’t gone to bed yet?”</p>
<p>“Box.” A mere twitch of the mouth.</p>
<p>“Sure, box.” He smiled, crossing over onto the carpet floor. “Haven’t gone to <em>box </em>then, innit?”</p>
<p>“Mmph.” His arms closed in further on himself, painted chin resting on his knees. He watched him as he got closer, gaze clear with indecision. “Guess not.”</p>
<p>“Why so?”</p>
<p>Poopet’s slender fingers drummed back and forth on his sleeves, fluffy brown hair falling over his face. “Tried. But it’s quiet.”</p>
<p>“Instincts are raising back up, mate? You know you could pull up a radio-”</p>
<p>“Damn advertisements interrupt the flow. No-go.” He shifted on the cushions ever so slightly, sigh escaping his lips. Showtime was close enough to see the lack of energy in his irises, though. “It’s maddening, but I can’t close my eyes for more than a moment before some rubbish thought gets me up again. Hmph.”</p>
<p>“So you need music.”</p>
<p>“What I’ve been saying this entire bloody time.” His face pressed further into his legs with huff. “Even if I finally knock myself out, I’ll be miffed tomorrow morn.”</p>
<p>“Dawktrap won’t enjoy it, then.” Showtime chuckled. “But you know, it’s not like you’re out of solutions.”</p>
<p>“Huh?”</p>
<p>He flashed him a grin, making his way towards the other side of the living room. It was still pretty small, mostly filled with the couch, coffee table and television set, but in the corner, he’d kept a wondrous prize… courtesy of his interview studio, of course.</p>
<p>He pushed back the cover, freeing the white and black keys into the moonlight. The varnished wood settled in with a <em>click</em>, and he sat down on the bench, hands neatly curving as they rested on top of the music rack. Showtime kept any pieces that he fancied inside his office, so it was empty of any sheet music- but as he racked his head for ideas, it was clear he didn’t need them.</p>
<p>“A bit loud, innit?” He turned around to see Poopet staring at him, mingled curiosity and apprehension in his white expression. “Considering it’s… a grand one, too.”</p>
<p>“The lot of them can manage. I doubt they’d mind a little ditty, if they’re still awake at this point.” He waved it off with a small shrug. “I won’t be absolutely thrashing the keys, anyways… I’ve already got a song in mind.”</p>
<p>“I guess.” He sank further into the couch, eyes still fixed on the piano. “What is it?”</p>
<p>“Stay still and find out.” Showtime’s nails drifted across the keys once more, pressing down for a faint scale. After a moment, his eyes gleamed and he took in a deep breath.</p>
<p>“<em>Welcome to the show… and like it or not, it’s time to play a game, let’s play a game…</em></p>
<p>“<em>We don’t want you to go… ‘cause like it or not, you’ll never feel the same… let’s play a game…</em></p>
<p>“<em>Let’s play it.</em>”</p>
<p>It sprung from his throat so naturally, fingers flowing across the keys simultaneously. Poopet blinked in a fleeting recognition, arms relaxing to his sides. He couldn’t help the instinctive sway of his head to the rhythm, notes encasing his hearing completely.</p>
<p>“<em>One, two, three, four, five… you think you can survive, survive? This is all a lie, ‘cause your story ends tonight…</em></p>
<p>“<em>And like it or not you’ll never feel the same…</em>”</p>
<p>Sure, Showtime loved to play bright and energetic tunes, too. The studio required nothing less, given what they produced… but, well. Music was a versatile medium, as was any, and he was fully prepared to mold it underneath his fingers whenever he got the chance, between the constant writing and rehearsing of scripts. Sometimes less was more, and tonight he couldn’t imagine it being anything else.</p>
<p>“<em>Don’t run away, just come to play, no fun today, this is what I have to say…</em></p>
<p>“<em>Don’t run away, just come to play, this is what I have to say; you’re stuck here every day…</em></p>
<p>“<em>Every day…</em>”</p>
<p>His eyes finally opened again, flickering back towards the couch. His lips curved into a smile as he saw Poopet’s stilled figure, the shine of his dark irises gone. He could just make out the smallest rise and fall of his shoulders, slow and steady. His attention turned back to the piano, no longer singing, just letting the bare, soft notes wind around on their own. A light hum vibrated from his throat with it, but eventually, Showtime let the sound fade away, standing up and allowing himself the slightest bow. Fingers quietly grasped the edge of the wooden cover, bringing down its polished surface back over the keys. Swiftly turning around, he gave a soft chuckle as he watched his peaceful slumber.</p>
<p>“A spot of music indeed…”</p>
<p>He contemplated on it for a moment longer before walking over, gently stooping down next to his form. The lightest snore was audible in the resumed silence, and shaking his head, he carefully wrapped his arms around his back. Showtime lifted him up, carrying him through the living room and up the stairs. Poopet remained dormant at each step.</p>
<p>At last, shouldering open the door to his room, he spotted the large, open present box on the floor. Peering in, he could see the fluffed-up mess of pillows and blankets, as well as opened rolls of ribbon and yarn. More of a nest than a bed, but he only smiled at the thought.</p>
<p>Sucking in a breath, he carefully rested his form inside, curled up on the soft items. He tucked his hoodie over his hair as well, watching in calm wonder at his blissful face. Much sweeter than when he was scowling at Dawktrap for another prank, that was for sure. Showtime slid the box lid over the top, before backing away, closing the door and leaving him to continue his doze.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. When it rains, it pours.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Relationship: Dawktrap &amp; The Poopet, Dawktrap / The Poopet</p><p>Genre: Humor, Fluff</p><p>Warnings: Heated makeout session at the end?</p><p>----------</p><p>When it rains, it pours.<br/>And when it sparks, it roars.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No one:<br/>Me: *Holding up all these ships* So have you heard about our lord and savior-</p><p>I stg I am so mad. This one wasn't even- this one didn't start out as romantic at all. This wasn't where it would go. I didn't. I didn't even. I can't. If this holds up then I'm going to have to get rid of that chunk in the intro chapter that said I'd be focused on platonic relationships.<br/><em>...But it's fun as hell-</em></p><p>And reminder that you're fully free to skip over any one-shots or sections that you're not comfortable reading :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey! Hey. No. <em>No</em>. You’re not going out- <em>no</em>. Not bloody going outside. You- it’s <em>wet</em>! You’re going to be miserable, you’ll have to end up in the washing machine if you don’t turn back- what?! Stop looking at me like that!”</p><p>The sputtering words caught Poopet’s attention, eyebrows quirking up as he neared the bottom of the stairs. Cautiously, he tugged down his hoodie from his hair, raking it back as Nightguard’s voice neared. Peering around into the kitchen, he only felt the confusion grow.</p><p>The exasperated man had one hand clamped over a large, plastic jar, flipped upside-down and firmly holding it down against the countertop. Inside was an annoyed-looking plushie, glaring back up at him. Its felt arms were crossed, mismatched eyes glittering as it stuck out its tongue. A string of tiny noise came from inside, even less audible with the plastic barrier over it.</p><p>“I can’t even understand what you’re saying! It- bloody hell, whatever you’re doing, you’re not going outside. It’s <em>raining</em>, mate, you can’t expect me to-”</p><p>“The nutter’s being a nutter again?” Poopet leaned against the fridge, watching both of their faces snap up. “Good thing you didn’t let go of that jar.”</p><p>“Probably just the glitch- I’m hoping it’s just the glitch, that is, bloody hell…” Nightguard didn’t have his cap on at the moment, and as he looked around further, he could see it lying a few feet away on the floor. “Caught him trying to escape, and it took ages to get him into this. Wouldn’t let go for the world.”</p><p>“Mhm.” He sauntered closer, catching the plushie’s glare aimed his way too. A flick of his fingers against the plastic, and he could hear the clear squeak of outrage in response. His lips twitched in a slight smile. “Fancy having you in a container instead.”</p><p>The stitched pads of his hands pressed against the side of the jar closest to him, pattering with tiny thumps on the surface. Poopet raised an eyebrow, ideas beginning to churn in his head. “Did the bloke really get like this because it’s raining?”</p><p>“Your reaction’s as good as mine.” Nightguard gave a resigned sigh. “I don’t understand why he won’t just turn back and wear something less fancy if he really wanted to go out there, but… here we bloody are.”</p><p>“Clearly.” He could feel his grin slowly widening as he stared at the disgruntled plush longer and longer. “Do you want me to hold him down while you pick up your hat?”</p><p>A small squeal of anger was clear at his words, and Nightguard gave the plastic another look. “Shove it, for once! Yes, that’ll do right now.”</p><p>“Wicked.” He clamped down his hand on top of the container, stifling a chuckle at the absolute indignance in his embroidered glare. He thumped the top of the jar with a finger, voice lowering. “Oi, shut up. I’ve got a plan, mate.”</p><p>Confused blinking in response, and he rolled his eyes. “Rain sure looks nice, doesn’t it?” Poopet continued. “Be a right shame if you managed to get this container off and shove open the door to the backyard.”</p><p>“Hmm?” Nightguard was back up, adjusting the cap in his hair.</p><p>“Oh, nothing.” He raised an eyebrow. “Should we try and find the lid for this? Don’t want to stay keeping him in check all day, mate.”</p><p>“Just pulled it out of the pantry, don’t remember where it was… but I’ll take another look.”</p><p>“Make sure you get the right one. Don’t want him knocking it off out of nowhere if we’re not quick enough.” Poopet’s gaze carefully trailed after him, watching his turned back. A glimmer of mischief woke back up as he glanced back down at the jar, lips turning in a smirk. “<em>Trust me</em>.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Nothing, just this nutter.” He chuckled. “...He can’t actually get out of this by shifting, can he? What if he tries?”</p><p>“Blast if I know. And he’d better not.” Nightguard narrowed his eyes. “Where is that bloody lid…?”</p><p>“Try one of the drawers.” He watched him as he closed the cabinet, moving further and further away from the hallway leading to the backdoor. He slowly picked up the jar away from the countertop, cupping the opening in his gloved palm. Dawktrap’s stitched-on eyes began to slowly widen, moving from suspicion to curiosity to a thinly-veiled, disbelieving excitement. Quietly, he inched towards the corridor, pressing his lips together to stifle any amusement threatening to bubble up. The tiny, poorly-hidden giggle within the plastic only made his grin widen slightly.</p><p>“Still not there, goddamn.” The rummaging paused, Nightguard’s voice floating into the short hallway. The hallway they were five steps into. “There’s no way it’d be within the silverware, unless- Poopet? Where- What are you-”</p><p>“<em>Go</em>!” Yanking off the jar, he barely kept his hold on the plushie, sprinting towards the door. Any shouting from Nightguard was completely lost in the blood rushing through his ears, yanking on the handle as soon as he reached it. Wrenching the door open, Poopet took off in the midst of the rain pattering down from the grey skies, peals of laughter escaping his lungs as he ran towards the backyard fence, the forest behind it never seeming so enticing before.</p><p>He wasn’t quite sure when he’d let go of Dawktrap or when he’d switched out of his plushie form, but now he was running alongside him in the shared rush, scrambling over the gate with furred hands. Poopet could feel the edge of the wooden planks catch on his sleeves as he followed, droplets beginning to dampen his hair, but it was meaningless in the pure euphoria in the moment. Ducking around branches, smacking into twice as many that left even more water splashing across his face- goddamn, this was <em>living</em>.</p><p>“Bloody brilliant!” The gleeful scream came from the person besides him, mismatched eyes filled with a crazed energy as he spread his arms out, laughing at the liquid dripping from his dress shirt. They were still moving, stumbling over stray rocks and dips in the uneven ground- but hell, as Dawktrap flashed him the fiercest grin yet, he was solidly without a single regret. “Make it flood, damnit!”</p><p>“Have you gone mad?” Poopet jeered after him, tugging at his soaked hoodie. “You’d bring down the bloody house with this shit-”</p><p>“You’re more bonkers than I am, pulling that spiel!” He cackled, turning around to face him, hands still outstretched. “You knew what you were pulling, mate, there’s no backing out now!”</p><p>“It was the perfect opportunity! Even if it would have been funny to keep you locked in that little jar for the rest of the day-”</p><p>“Oh, you little prick!”</p><p>“The same prick that busted you out, bastard-”</p><p>“Ha, I would’ve transformed and broken out anyways-”</p><p>“I’d like to see you try, you daft-”</p><p>“Damn nitwit, fucking talking down to me while forming your plan-”</p><p>“Not hard when you’re that gormless, utter-”</p><p>“As if when you led Cappy on that wild goose-chase for a lid that doesn’t even exist-”</p><p>They’d stopped running during their tumbling banter, standing nearly nose-to-nose with identical jubilant smirks plastered on their wet faces. Shoving each other around on unsteady feet between each mirthful exchange, Poopet was almost dizzy with the chaos they must’ve caused in no more than five minutes. Bubbling giggles escaped him, watching Dawktrap raise an eyebrow.</p><p>“What is it, you dick?”</p><p>“Pfft- bloody imagine if he finally <em>did </em>just find the lid.” He sniggered, back bumping against a tree trunk. “Goddamn- the nutter’s probably the most pissed off he’s ever been…”</p><p>“Oh, imagine when Funtime gets home.” A furred hand pressed against the wood too, Dawktrap steadying himself as he shook out his hair. “Blast it- it’s only a few <em>minutes </em>until then! Oh, that’s bloody marvellous, he’s going to get to explain and- and he’ll either be laughing his arse off or too tired to deal with anything- hell-”</p><p>“Goddamn, what a storm.” Poopet chuckled, pushing himself away from the tree. “This is the best I’ve pulled yet.”</p><p>“Oi!” He jumped up at his words, irises flaring. “You wouldn’t even gotten a chance if I wasn’t already there and being the sacrificial lamb for this situation-”</p><p>“You tried and failed! I tried and succeeded, so there!”</p><p>“Oh, fucking prick-”</p><p>“Ha! Nothing but a Fanny Adams if I didn’t decide to come downstairs-”</p><p>“You wouldn’t have a single idea for it if I wasn’t there, you utter-”</p><p>“Bloody taking credit when all you did was sit pretty-”</p><p>“Oh, that is <em>it </em>you little cock up!”</p><p>His bark of laughter cut off his sentence, and suddenly, Poopet was being shoved back with forceful hands, words cut off in a wheeze as his spine hit the tree. The back of his head collided with the rough bark as well, neck and hoodie pressed into the grating wood. Taking in a gulping breath, he could feel his exhale turn into another bout of giggles, staring back into the face of the man.</p><p>Every inch of Dawktrap’s face screamed ecstasy and madness. Mismatched eyes that all but glowed with a flickering insanity. Lips slicked with rain and irked in a daredevil grin, poised inches from his face. His hair was raked back in multiple messy directions, the usual crispness long gone to the precipitation above. A few red marks were slapped across his nose and cheeks from stray twigs, not covering up the bright red flush of energy underneath. The once-pristine outfit was disastrously sodden- small tears had opened up on the purple vest now hanging off his shoulders, white dress shirt underneath wrinkled and untucked. The top buttons had gotten undone as well, revealing his glistening neck and collarbone with the slightest rise and fall of his lungs. His hands were bunched up so tightly in his black hoodie, furred digits pressing against his chest.</p><p>It was the freshest sight reserved for hell, and all Poopet wanted to do was <em>burn</em>.</p><p>“You’re gonna cause a damn trainwreck one day, bloody git.” He chuckled breathlessly, not at all caring about the way his fingers dug in tighter.</p><p>“Yeah?” Dawktrap retorted, hot breaths mingling together in the small space. “As the conductor or the rider?”</p><p>“As the blasted station watcher.” He smirked. “As a knowing prick that let them take course on the same tracks and collide into hell.”</p><p>“Oi, dick.” The wolfish grin was rapidly turning into a heartbreaker smile in Poopet’s gaze. “That’s <em>the </em>prick to you, bloody nitwit.”</p><p>“Sure it is.” Not even a clap of thunder could tear away his eyes now. “<em>My </em>prick.”</p><p>He didn’t know which one of them surged forward first, or if the closeness was just too much to be avoided, or perhaps it all happened at the same time- but the instant a pair of lips slammed into his own, everything all but blacked out, the heat of Dawktrap’s body pressed against his own outdoing any former chill from the rain. His fingers tangled into dark brown strands, drinking in the cool moisture from his mouth like a lifeline as his shoulders were callously pushed further against the tree. Goddamn if he didn’t feel like drowning- oxygen could wait, all that mattered was how hot and heavy this felt, sinking further and further into the sensation with barely a bottom in sight.</p><p>The aching in their lungs eventually brought them both back up though, drawing away with gasping breaths. Through his half-lidded view, all Poopet could focus on was the glistening on Dawktrap’s reddened lips, dewy with their mingled saliva instead of water, turned from daring and banter to something warmer, something <em>insinuating</em>.</p><p>“Blimey.” He breathed out, barely lifting his gaze back up to the rest of his tantalizing face. “You’re a fucking knockout.”</p><p>“Coming from giving as good as you got.” Dawktrap chuckled, a low, teasing sound. His eyes were filled with want, not making his heartbeat any slower. “Bloody hell if this wasn’t the best fucking day for a storm.”</p><p>“Bastard.” Poopet sighed, almost groaning as he leaned forward again, lips pressing against his exposed neck. “You’d be in so much more trouble if it wasn’t <em>you</em>.”</p><p>“Except it is.” He purred between bites, tracing marks all around his throat in a way that made his head spin. “And the only trouble in sight around here is right between us.”</p><p>Oh, Poopet couldn’t wait to get to that burning pit of damnation.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Lunch Break</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Relationships: All friendships!</p><p>Genre: Humor</p><p>Warnings: None!</p><p>----------</p><p>“You forgot your lunch.” He remarked, holding up the bag with a complete poker face.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you have a good birthday, L.O.L! Cheers to ya.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“And that’s a wrap, boys!”</p><p>The cheery call echoed across the stage, Showtime relaxing back into the seat as the boom mic lowered. Across from him, a low grunt sounded from a disgruntled looking animatronic, eyes flickering as it shuffled away. Arms stretching upward, he basked in the fading spotlight, pushing himself out of the swivel chair with a loopy grin. Slipping behind the backstage curtain, someone was already waiting on the other side, one hand holding a fluffy white towel and the other sitting on their hip.</p><p>“Cas! Oh, thank heavens.” He greeted her with a beaming smile, taking the cloth. With a sigh of relief, Showtime rested it across his neck, the cool softness soaking up any perspiration from that enduring interview. He wasn’t quite expecting as much of a show and as many tangents from this one, given that it was most definitely a nightmare, but still. The two hours would make a great episode once it was edited, and he most definitely intended to start tonight. “Thank you for the towel, mate.”</p><p>“You sure needed it after that lengthy talk.” She pointed out, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Her black bun looked much neater than his own hair, barely styled and now no doubt falling apart. At least looking smooth was never made into his public image. “Should have known better than to book half the time it ended up taking.”</p><p>“They were a nightmare, Cas! I didn’t expect the eagerness. They almost never are.” Showtime gave a weary chuckle. “At least the rest of the afternoon is fairly empty… just some neatening up of the studio and then I’ll finish editing the last one. If I’m lucky, I can allot some time over to begin this one too.”</p><p>“We all know you’ll get there even if it takes you until midnight.” Cassandra rolled her eyes, stepping out towards the stage. “I’ll help with the clean-up here. Richard’s left suggestions for further editing on the last episode on your desk, and Neil’s managed to secure agreements for more animatronics to interview.”</p><p>“Appreciate it.” He nodded. “I’ll be able to look at it all during lunch… dear, I <em>am </em>getting hungry.”</p><p>“Obviously. It was supposed to happen half an hour ago.” She scoffed lightly, patting the edge of his sleeve. “Don’t overwork yourself.”</p><p>“Too late.” He quipped back, smirking at her sigh. He made his way through the backstage, finally getting away from the stage area and back into the actual studio. He offered a wave to a few of the staff roaming through the halls, getting closer to his own office. A sticky note and a manila folder on the desk greeted him when he got inside, undoing the buttons on his outer vest and picking both up.</p><p>“A phantom, he says? Interesting… we’ve been able to pick up a few in the past, but they’re quite the mellow treat each time…” He set the slip of paper aside, moving over to the folder. “Not too much! Wonderful…”</p><p>He sat down in the swivel chair, hanging the purple jacket over it. Showtime crossed over to the window, pushing up the blinds and allowing the fresh breeze to flow through. With a long exhale, he stretched his arms, allowing the laptop to boot up. Rummaging absentmindedly through his pack, the calm demeanor faded slightly as he frowned.</p><p>No lunch inside? He could have sworn he’d brought it along today… or perhaps he’d put it in the fridge in the lounge. Hmm.</p><p>Stepping back out of his office, he walked through the corridor, peering inside the open room once he got there. The fridge was right besides the doorway, but two other people stood inside as well.</p><p>“Hey, Showtime!” One greeted him with a grin. “How’d the show go? Cassandra said it went longer than usual.”</p><p>“She was quite accurate.” He chuckled, opening the fridge door. “I only booked an hour, Richard! But it sure got lengthy…”</p><p>“Sure seems like it. But I think the fans’ll take an interested nightmare as a treat.” Richard took a long sip from their coffee cup. “Could even bring them back out another time, if they were that excited.”</p><p>“Perhaps.” Showtime’s fingers drummed against the fridge handle. “Blast, where is it…?”</p><p>“Looking for a snack?”</p><p>“My lunch. I swear I brought it along, but…”</p><p>“That’s a little unfortunate.” The other person shrugged. “If right now’s just your off-period, you could snag something from the market down the street.”</p><p>“Most likely I will, mate.” He frowned. “Though that’s a shame. I was looking forward to it…”</p><p>“Did the others make it?”</p><p>“Poopet. He makes lovely grilled sandwiches, and he gave me one for the day… hmm.” Showtime swung the fridge shut again with a sigh. “Well then, I’ll be back within ten minutes for a-”</p><p>
  <em>Boom!</em>
</p><p>They all tensed up at the sudden rumble shaking the building. His head snapped around, darting outside the room.</p><p>“What was that?” Gasped Richard, right behind him. “There’s no way that was purposeful, or-”</p><p>“Hopefully not, but-” Showtime suddenly halted, staring down the hallway. “...Ah.”</p><p>The front doors of the studio stood not too far away, along with the reception desk- or at least, they <em>had</em>. Now, out of nowhere, the glass panes stood completely crushed, a car standing on top of the rubble, mere inches away from the desk. Light dust created a haze over the scene, but it wasn’t hard to see the quivering receptionist with their back pressed against the wall, eyes impossibly wide as they stared at the ride. More staff members were appearing, gazes easily as shocked.</p><p>Except for Showtime, dumbfounded realization settling in as he began to see who lay inside the car.</p><p>In the backseat was a curled up Nightguard in the fetal position, shivering no doubt from the same fear. In shotgun was Dawktrap, face pressed into his hands and shoulders shaking- either from laughter, crying, or both. And in the driver’s seat…</p><p>The door suddenly flew open, a head in a black and white hoodie poking out. Poopet looked completely calm, and in one hand was a brown paper bag, neatly folded. His eyes locked onto Showtime immediately, stepping over the destroyed glass and concrete with the most grace he had ever exhibited.</p><p>“You forgot your lunch.” He remarked, holding up the bag with a complete poker face.</p><p>And Showtime, in spite of everything-</p><p>He could only <em>laugh</em>, nearly doubling over with the hysterical tears starting to well up from the absurd amusement he felt.</p><p>And Cassandra gave a long sigh, no doubt bemoaning the property damages in her head.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Incorrect Quotes 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Have some more incorrect quotes, in lieu of today being my birthday! Another year gone by, even if the pandemic made it a little worse for wear.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Showtime:</p><p>Showtime: When I said that I wanted you to lighten up, this was not what I meant.</p><p>Poopet, wrapped in christmas lights: WELL IT’S TOO LATE NOW-</p><p>----------</p><p>Showtime, holding another interview: So the audience polls are up, and it shows that you are gay!</p><p>Nightguard: W-Wait, you can tell just by the <em>polls</em>-?</p><p>Showtime: I could tell as soon as you walked onstage.</p><p>
  <em>(Vine)</em>
</p><p>----------</p><p>Dawktrap: So… the souls got into an argument and neither want to fuse again, heh.</p><p>Nightguard: Wh- Why are you looking up? What’s-</p><p>Dawktrap: <em>I need to cry but my foundation was 30 pounds-</em></p><p>
  <em>(Vine)</em>
</p><p>----------</p><p>Poopet and Dawktrap: *yelling at each other*</p><p>Nightguard, tired: Bloody hell, just make up and make out already!</p><p>Poopet and Dawktrap:</p><p>Nightguard:</p><p>Nightguard: Wait, no- please don’t kill me, I meant-</p><p>Showtime: No, no, keep it. It works.</p><p>----------</p><p>Showtime: Hey, Dawktrap! I think I know why your soul fragments keep manifesting as plushies.</p><p>Dawktrap: Uh, duh? It’s my whole ability, given that-</p><p>Showtime: Because beneath that insane exterior, you’re a soft little sweetheart!</p><p>Dawktrap:</p><p>Dawktrap: Stop being cute.</p><p>Showtime: Exactly!</p><p>Dawktrap: Wait, no-</p><p>----------</p><p>Poopet: See, the thing about fire is that you don’t even have to try, you know? It’s not like murder where you have to go out, be sneaky, actually stab someone- as a matter of fact, you can make fire right in the comfort of your home!</p><p>Showtime:</p><p>Showtime: Poopet why is there smoke coming from the kitchen?</p><p>Poopet:</p><p>Showtime: <em>Poopet-</em></p><p>----------</p><p>Dawktrap: If Poopet can grow strings from his hands, does that make him spiderman?</p><p>Poopet: Wh- No!</p><p>Dawktrap: Why not?</p><p>Poopet: Because I don’t go around saving people!</p><p>Dawktrap:</p><p>Dawktrap: An off-brand spiderman-</p><p>----------</p><p>Poopet: Mate, I just don’t know if this relationship is working out…</p><p>Dawktrap: W-Wait, we can fix things! I promise I’ve changed, love!</p><p>Poopet:</p><p>Poopet: <em>Glitchtrap finds a new way to call me a bitch every day and you do nothing to stop him-</em></p><p>Dawktrap: <em>Well, he’s not wrong-</em></p><p>----------</p><p>Showtime, holding a bouquet: Happy one-year, love!</p><p>Nightguard:</p><p>Nightguard: I’m 27-</p><p>
  <em>(Vine)</em>
</p><p>----------</p><p>Nightguard: So a fangirl is basically what you call someone that kind of follows and obsesses over someone or someone’s work, right?</p><p>Poopet: Pretty much. Why?</p><p>Nightguard: So then… does that make Dawktrap’s plushes fangirls?</p><p>Poopet: Wha- wait, how?</p><p>Nightguard: I keep on seeing them following <em>me</em>!</p><p>Poopet:</p><p>Dawktrap:</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. McRun Away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Relationships: All friendships!</p><p>Genre: Crack, Humor</p><p>Warnings: None!</p><p>----------</p><p>Screw the drive through, screw the rain, screw 5 A.M., screw McDonalds, and <em>screw Popeyes.</em></p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here you go, L.O.L- that request from so long ago- <em>but with a twist</em>.<br/>Also, I have no idea if the fast food chains in the UK are the exact same as they are in America but uh I am definitely not living in the former so-</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So, what does everyone want again?”</p><p>“10-piece nuggets with fries?”</p><p>“I’ll just have a quarter pounder, mate.”</p><p>“I still wish we headed to popeyes…”</p><p>The stifled giggle from Nightguard could be heard above the pattering rain outside, as Dawktrap swiveled around from the driver’s seat, glare already aimed at Poopet’s sour face. “Your problem and not ours, prick. You would have been able to choose popeyes if you volunteered to drive.”</p><p>“Ugh, fine.” He pulled up his hoodie around his face, grumpy scowl not abiding. “I’ll have a spicy chicken, whatever.”</p><p>“And <em>I’ll</em> have a breakfast biscuit.” He grinned sharply, peeling around the side. It was soon to fade though, rolling his eyes with a loud groan as the drive-through came into view. “Oh, come <em>on</em>…”</p><p>“That’s a surprising number of people that decided to have McDonalds at the same time.” Noted Showtime.</p><p>“And had the energy to get up and drive to it at 5 in the morning in this downpour.” Added Poopet.</p><p>Dawktrap let his forehead fall onto the steering wheel. “We <em>just </em>dragged ourselves out to scoop you up from the studio, and now we have to wait another bloody hour or so for breakfast?”</p><p>“This is why we should have gone to popeyes, I told you-”</p><p>“Oh, shut your trap.” He rolled his eyes. “You know what, hold on a moment- no. We are <em>not </em>going through that atrocious line, wait-”</p><p>“What else are you going to do?” Poopet raised an eyebrow. “Go to another fast food place-?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>- that idea can get buried six feet under. I just need to…”</p><p>"Wh- where are you even-?" Nightguard winced as the car suddenly swiveled around, Dawktrap glaring at the windshield as he maneuvered it around. “Mate, you can’t just-”</p><p>“Watch me, prick.” He muttered, slipping around to the parking lot. “This’ll get us out a lot quicker…”</p><p>“Need someone to run in with?” Showtime chimed.</p><p>“<em>You’re </em>staying to keep a damn eye on the car and make sure <em>that </em>nutter doesn’t wreck it trying to get his blasted fried chicken.”</p><p>“Wha- <em>oi</em>!”</p><p>“Keeping it honest.” Dawktrap pulled into a spot, halting the car and shoving open the door. He gave a growl of irritation at the heavy storm that met him, but quickly bolted towards the glass doors.</p><p>Screw the drive through, screw the rain, screw 5 A.M., screw McDonalds, and <em>screw Popeyes.</em></p><p>He all but rammed into the door, shoving himself through and onto the tile floors. For a moment, he stood there, the water dripping down his clothes and panting for breath. Raising his gaze, he could see the cashiers and various waiting customers staring at him, expressions ranging from bemused to utterly horrified.</p><p>With a huff, Dawktrap walked towards the shortest line, barely caring about the way everyone parted before his sodden form. The employee at the front flinched as he tossed a dozen or so bills onto the countertop.</p><p>“10 nuggets and large fries, quarter pounder, breakfast biscuit, chicken.” He rattled it off, turning away with a huff. “Keep the change.”</p><p>He went to sit down at one of the booths, sinking down into the seat with a groan. This morning could not go by sooner- the moment Dawktrap got the food, he’d be out in a heartbeat.</p><p>“Sir, um…” One of the staff members hovered uncertainly nearby, hands clasping together. “If you please… perhaps you could head to the washroom to freshen up a little?”</p><p>With a sigh, he hefted himself up, slinking over to the bathroom. As if a shitty public toilet would do anything to help. Still, they probably didn’t enjoy having to deal with his mess any more than he himself did.</p><p>Dawktrap peered in the mirror over the sink, raking back his soaking hair. He hadn’t been wearing his usual outfit, just a t-shirt over long sleeves and gloves to hide his furred hands- though the mismatched eyes were still in full view. Probably what caught them off-guard the most. Splashing some water on his face, he plucked up some paper towels, drying off as much as the flimsy material could manage.</p><p>Turning to toss them in the trash bin, he suddenly bumped into someone behind him. Backing away, he was already preparing a quick apology, almost missing their frame. “Sorry ‘bout that, ma-”</p><p>Then his eyes focused.</p><p>And froze wide.</p><p>“<em>What the fuck?!</em>”</p><p>Hell no. Hell <em>no</em>. Not that damn pink and white head and tiny plastic ears, glassy smile way too fucking innocent for everything lying below, fuck this, fuck everything, Dawktrap was out, fucking <em>done</em>-</p><p>Before that abomination could even do anything- and it would have been <em>so much worse if it actually spoke</em>- he was moving, sprinting past the door without a second thought, caring even less at the faces staring at him like he was mad.</p><p>“Sir, are you-?”</p><p>“<em>Yesokaythatwasgreatthanksforthestuffbye!</em>” He snatched up the paper bags of food, slamming open the door and nearly stumbling on the slippery asphalt. Dawktrap was across the parking lot in an instant, all but throwing open the car door to the mingled shock of the others.</p><p>“Woah, that was fast-”</p><p>“Bloody hell, a little warning would’ve-”</p><p>“Mate, why do you look so-”</p><p>“<em>Take your food and shut your trap</em>!” He tossed the bags behind him, engine rumbling as he backed out as quick as he could muster. Dawktrap didn’t look back once, the road ahead fixed in his crazed stare. His fingers gripped the wheel tight enough for his stitches to strain, the souls inside spinning with a million thoughts.</p><p>
  <em>I don’t get it-?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Be glad you don’t.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>“So…” Showtime’s drawn out words finally cut through his mind, wound up tense enough to snap. “Penny for your thoughts on why you ran like the devil was behind?”</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Haha.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>“...We’re going to Popeye’s next time.”</p><p>“Oh, brilliant-”</p><p>“I’m throwing you into the mud, Pup.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Feel free to leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed, as well as ideas or suggestions for future one-shots! Details about what I will/won't write can be found in the first chapter.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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